-  • 


V 


THE    HERMIT 
A  STORY  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 


WHAT  DO  YOU  MEAN  —  WHO  is  HE  "  —  Page  3G8 


The  Hermit 
A  Story  of  the    Wilderness 


BY 


CHARLES   CLARK   MUNN 

AUTHOR  OF   "  POCKET   ISLAND,"   "  UNCLE  TERRY," 
AND   " ROCKHAVEN  " 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  A.  BURNHAM  SHUTE 


BOSTON 

LEE    AND    SHEPARD 

1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD. 
Published  August,  1903. 


All  rights  reserved. 
THE  HERMIT 


lietfteattott 

/  O  those  who  love  the  sparkle  of  rippled  lakes 
hid  in  the  wilderness,  the  fir-clad  mountains 
lifting  to  kiss  the  clouds,  the  sweet  laughter  of  running 
waters,  the  glowing  camp-fire  chasing  away  the  dark- 
ness, the  song  of  birds  greeting  the  sunrise ;  or  whose 
hearts  vibrate  to  the  memory  of  the  old  brown  school- 
house,  the  daisy-dotted  meadows,  the  moss-coated  mill 
and  pond  smiling  with  lilies,  and  all  the  fond  recollec- 
tions of  such  happy  childhood  days,  this  book  is  respect- 
fully dedicated  by 

THE   AUTHOR. 


2228448 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  FAGB 

I.    FIRST  LOVE i 

II.  A  CURIOUS  FOOTPRINT    .        .        .        .11 

III.  THE  WILD  MAN 25 

IV.  THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  WILDERNESS       .      35 
V.  BESIDE  A  CAMP-FIRE       ....      46 

VI.  A  STRANGE  PURSUER       ....      52 

VII.  GHOST  OR  WILD  MAN?    ....      63 

VIII.  THE  HERMIT'S  HOME       ....      70 

IX.    THE  HERMIT 79 

X.    GREENVALE 88 

XI.  AUNT  COMFORT'S  ASYLUM        ...      96 

XII.  GREENVALE  is  DISTURBED       .        .        .106 

XIII.  ILLUSION  AND  REALITY    .        .        .        .112 

XIV.  AFTER  MANY  YEARS        .        .        .        .123 
XV.  BOYHOOD  MEMORIES         .        .        .        .131 

XVI.  SUNDAY  IN  GREENVALE   .        .        .        .142 

XVII.     ANGIE  CURTIS 151 

XVIII.     OLD  CY  WALKER 161 

XIX.  DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND  .        .        .        .170 

XX.  "THOU   SHALT   NOT   STEAL1'       .           .           •       I?9 

XXI.  "SCAR  FACE,  THE  AVENGER"         .        .187 
vii 


viii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  A  SHOCK  TO  GREENVALE  .        .        .197 

XXIII.  SUNDAY  EVENING        ....  206 

XXIV.  VILLAGE  GOSSIP 215 

XXV.  A  TASTE  OF  WOOD  LIFE  .        .        .221 

XXVI.  JUST  A  FORMAL  GOOD-BY  .        .        .  233 

XXVII.  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  ONCE  MORE     .  242 

XXVIII.  UNEXPECTED  TROUBLE       .        .        .  250 

XXIX.  A  NIGHT  JOURNEY  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  261 

XXX.  A  DESERTED  CABIN   ....  271 

XXXI.  THE  BIRTH  OF  NEW  THOUGHT.        .  281 

XXXII.  AMZI  CURTIS 290 

XXXIII.  UNWELCOME  VISITORS         .        .        .  300 

XXXIV.  THE  LAIR  OF  AN  OUTCAST        .        .310 
XXXV.  HOME  BUILDING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  318 

XXXVI.  HALLOWE'EN 330 

XXXVII.  No  MOURNERS 338 

XXXVIII.  A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE  .        .        .  350 

XXXIX.  A  NEW  LIFE 361 

XL.  A  CONFESSION 370 

XLI.  THANKSGIVING  DAY    ....  380 

XLII.  A.CHRISTMAS  PRESENT       .        .        .  389 

XLIII.  THE  SPREAD  OF  HAPPINESS       .        .  396 

XLIV.  WEDDING  BELLS         .        .        .        .  403 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


"  What  do  you  mean  —  who  is  he  ?  "    Frontispiece  .  368 

One  moment  only  he  saw  the  gray,  hairy  visage        .  24 
"  They  have  souls,  same  as  you  and  I  "     .        .         -85 

«  What'll  ye  give  ?" 176 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  all  these  years  of  neglect?  "    .  213 

"  Mebbe  God's  concluded  to  be  good  to  me  now 

I'm  gittin'  old  " 265 

"  Let's  see  your  tongue  agin  " 353 

"  Here  is  your  present,"  she  whispered     .        .        .  395 


THE    HERMIT 

CHAPTER   I 

FIRST    LOVE 

THE  camp-fire  had  burned  low ;  the  little  zone 
of  light  barely  outlined  the  open  tent,  the  two 
canoes,  bottom  up,  under  which  Levi  and  Jean 
were  sheltered,  and  the  narrow  opening  in  the 
forest  where  Martin  Frisbie  and  his  boyhood 
friend,  Dr.  Sol,  had  camped  for  the  night.  In 
front  of  this  a  placid  lakelet  reflected  the  stars, 
while  all  about  was  a  pathless  wilderness, 
sombre  and  silent.  For  an  hour  these  two, 
who  had  been  village  schoolmates,  became  remi- 
niscent as  they  lounged  beside  the  fire  and 
smoked. 

"And  so  Angie  isn't  married?"  queried 
Martin,  reaching  forward  to  poke  the  embers 
together.  "  That's  strange.  As  I  recall  her  at 
the  close  of  our  school  days,  she  was  a  more 
than  usually  pretty  girl  of  a  quiet  common- 


2  THE   HERMIT 

sense  sort,  one  who  would  naturally  become  a 
home-maker.  She  still  lives  with  Aunt  Com- 
fort, I  suppose  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  and  keeps  the 
South  End  school  and  has  for  ten  years." 
Then,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  come  to  him, 
he  added :  "  Maybe  she  is  waiting  for  you, 
Martin.  I  remember  you  used  to  be  sweet  on 
her  in  the  old  days." 

Martin  slowly  blew  a  smoke  ring  aloft,  for 
he,  like  every  youth,  had  passed  safely  through 
the  brief  delirium  of  first  love,  which  the  bright 
eyes  and  red  lips  of  Angie  Curtis  had  occa- 
sioned. 

"Yes,  I  must  admit  I  was,"  he  responded, 
"  and  do  you  know,  doctor,  now  that  you  men- 
tion my  callow  spell,  I  wish  I  could  go  back  to 
it  and  be  just  as  big  and  happy  a  fool  as  I  was 
then." 

The  doctor  laughed. 

"  Better  come  up  and  tell  her  so,"  he  re- 
sponded, glancing  at  Martin's  upraised  face ; 
"  for  all  you  know,  she  might  be  glad  to  listen, 
and  as  for  being  a  fool  over  again  —  well,  from 
what  I  hear,  you  can  afford  it  now." 


FIRST  LOVE  3 

And  Martin  could,  for  he  had  made  good  use 
of  the  years  since  he  and  Dr.  Sol  were  boys 
together,  and  had  reached  the  goal  of  moderate 
wealth  while  yet  in  the  prime  of  manhood. 

"I'd  like  to  see  Angie,"  Martin  added  mus- 
ingly after  a  long  pause,  "  and  have  a  good 
visit  and  laugh  over  our  youthful  silliness ;  but 
maybe  she  wouldn't  speak  to  me  now,  if  we 
met" 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  that's  nonsense,"  returned  the 
doctor,  promptly,  "  and  you  know  it.  Angie 
isn't  so  silly  as  to  retain  a  grudge  against  a 
boy  admirer  so  long.  Why  do  you  imagine 
she  would  ?  Does  your  conscience  smite  you  ? " 

"  No-o-o,"  came  the  drawling  answer,  "  and 
yet  I  think  I  didn't  treat  her  just  right,  after 
leaving  Greenvale.  I  was  too  busy  making 
money." 

And  that  night  when  the  chat  had  come  to. 
an  end,  and  Martin  had  crept  into  the  tent  and 
lay  listening  to  the  crackle  of  the  dying  fire, 
once  more  he  lived  over  those  fond  and  foolish 
days  of  his  youth. 

And  how  clear  and  distinctly  they  all  came 
back,  now  that  the  pages  began  to  turn  !  First 


4  THE   HERMIT 

the  school  days,  when  Angle,  in  her  little  checked 
gingham  pinafore,  had  chosen  him  as  her  res- 
cuer in  a  game  of  "  Stand  in  the  Well,"  then 
the  first  spelling  school  and  the  walk  home  with 
her  in  the  early  autumn,  when  the  Mizzy  looked 
like  a  stream  of  rippling  silver,  and  the  moon 
cast  mottled  shadows  along  the  maple-shaded 
lane  which  they  followed.  And  what  a  delight 
it  was  to  feel  her  small,  soft  hand  on  his  jacket 
sleeve,  and  how  scared  he  was  when  Aunt 
Comfort's  was  reached,  and  he  felt  impelled  to 
kiss  Angie.  Then  the  next  winter,  and  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  sleigh-ride  to  Riverton,  and 
the  home-coming  when  the  bells  jingled  so  mer- 
rily, and  he  could  feel  that  — 

"  The  stars  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight !" 

• 

And  the  sleigh  runners  creaked  in  the  frosty 
snow  when  the  horse  walked,  and  how  his  arm 
nearly  froze  holding  the  robe  around  Angie ! 
All  the  long  winter  evenings  in  Aunt  Comfort's 
"best  room,"  with  its  haircloth  furniture,  open 
fire,  and  shiny  brass  fire-dogs,  came  back,  with 


FIRST   LOVE  5 

the  popping  of  corn,  the  tin  pan  of  seek-no- 
further  apples,  and  bowl  of  cracked  walnuts  as 
side  features  of  minor  interest.  There  were 
other  and  equally  charming  occasions  —  moonlit 
evenings  on  Aunt  Comfort's  porch  when  the 
lilacs  were  in  bloom  and  the  fireflies  twinkled 
over  the  meadow,  long  walks  to  a  bridge  across 
the  Mizzy,  where  sweet  flag  grew,  with  many 
stolen  kisses  fragrant  with  flagroot,  gathered 
as  well,  and  dozens  of  other  and  equally  delight- 
ful hours,  with  Angie  as  the  one  sole  and  su- 
preme inspiration.  But  beyond  these  boyhood 
delights,  and  woven  into  his  feelings  like  fine 
tendrils,  was  the  memory  of  a  dozen  or  more 
old-time  Sabbath-school  melodies  she  used  to 
sing  to  her  own  accompaniment  played  upon 
a  little  droning  melodeon.  They  were  all  from 
a  collection  called  "  Fresh  Laurels,"  and  that, 
with  two  more,  one  labelled  "  Songs  of  Zion  " 
and  the  other  "The  Glee  Club,"  composed  her 
musical  library.  The  first  was  her  favorite,  and 
the  songs  she  usually  entertained  him  with 
were  "Give,  said  the  Little  Stream,"  "The 
Golden  Rule,"  "Shall  we  gather  at  the  River," 
"  All  the  Way,"  and  "  Sweet  Hour  of  Prayer." 


6  THE   HERMIT 

There  were  others,  of  course,  but  these  were 
so  catchy  he  had  soon  learned  them,  and  often 
joined  his  voice  with  hers.  All  the  other  epi- 
sodes of  their  youth  together  had  been  more 
or  less  indistinct  in  memory,  but  these  re- 
mained clearest  of  all,  and  now  after  many 
years,  and  amid  the  silence  of  night  in  the  wil- 
derness, he  could  see  Angie's  round,  sweet  face 
and  earnest  eyes  as  she  sang  those  old,  old 
songs  of  praise.  Not  only  did  these  melodies 
return,  but  borne  upon  their  cadence  was  every 
detail  of  the  singer  —  her  rounding  figure,  the 
tight-fitting,  calico  dress,  the  chubby  fingers 
scarce  able  to  span  an  octave,  and  the  two  long 
braids  ending  in  bows  of  brown  ribbon.  And 
what  a  sweet  picture  she  made  in  front  of  the 
low  melodeon,  her  face  upraised,  with  pink 
cheeks,  white  teeth,  and  red,  ripe  lips  glowing 
in  the  lamplight.  And  later  on,  when  the  sing- 
ing was  ended  and  together  they  sat  on  the 
haircloth  sofa,  with  the  lamp  turned  low,  he 
had  felt  that  she  was  akin  to  the  angels  her 
songs  had  described. 

For  two  years  he  had  lived  in  a  new  and 
glorified  world,  building  air-castles  with  her  and 


FIRST   LOVE  7 

for  her,  as  young  Romeos  ever  have  and  ever 
will,  and  then  came  a  sweet  and  yet  painful 
parting,  prolific  of  fond  promise,  but  alas,  like 
most,  to  fade  into  thin  air. 

For  one  year  more  they  had  exchanged  ten- 
der missives,  first  weekly,  then  monthly,  then 
irregularly ;  and  then  ceasing  entirely,  as  Martin, 
ambitious  and  hard-working  in  his  new  life,  ne- 
glected them,  and  so  the  dream  ended. 

Five  years  later  he  returned  to  spend  a 
Thanksgiving  with  his  mother,  and,  though 
he  met  Angie  at  church  and  received  a  bow 
and  a  smile,  he  impolitely  neglected  to  call. 
And  then  came  the  closing  of  his  home,  when 
his  mother  left  the  village  to  live  with  his  only 
sister,  now  married  and  dwelling  in  Riverton, 
and  Angie  and  Greenvale  became  but  mile- 
stones on  the  highway  of  memory. 

There  is  latent  in  every  man's  heart  a 
long-cherished  belief  that  she  who  was  his 
early  sweetheart  must  ever  feel  somewhat  of 
the  same  tender  interest  in  him.  She  may 
have  married  —  become  a  mother,  possibly  a 
grandmother;  he  may  have  neglected  her 
utterly  and  for  long  years,  and  yet,  in  his  con- 


8  THE  HERMIT 

ceit,  it  matters  not ;  she  must  and  certainly  does 
retain  his  face  in  her  memory,  and  deep  down 
in  her  heart,  a  little  of  the  old  first  love. 

Martin  was  no  different  from  other  men. 
He  had  lived  the  sweet  illusion  with  Angie  as 
its  star;  then  the  great  city  —  the  fight  for  a 
livelihood,  then  a  competence,  and  all  the  self- 
ish cynicism  instilled  by  contact  with  grasping 
greed,  had  levelled  the  beauteous  air-castles 
and  left  Angie  and  all  those  fond  and  foolish 
ways  mere  incidents  of  the  long  ago. 

Beyond  that,  he  had  escaped  any  more 
mature  and  dangerous  entanglement,  had  grown 
sceptical  of  all  things,  and  was  a  free-hearted, 
all-around  good  fellow,  yet  conscious  of  suc- 
cess ;  and  the  only  soft  spot  in  his  nature  was 
a  love  for  wood  life.  He  had  met  Dr.  "  Sol " 
Finch,  an  old  schoolmate,  by  chance  in  the 
city,  and  under  the  spur  of  this  sportsman's 
instinct  and  desire  to  share  its  keen  pleasures, 
had  invited  his  boyhood  friend  to  join  in 
them. 

And  now  the  doctor  was  fast  asleep,  while 
Martin,  lying  on  a  bed  of  fir  twigs,  with  the 
dying  fire  faintly  glowing  in  front  of  the  tent, 


FIRST  LOVE  9 

the  low  ripple  of  the  near-by  lake  murmuring 
along  the  sandy  shore,  was  once  more  listen- 
ing to  the  old  songs  of  Sabbath-school  days, 
sung  by  his  boyhood  sweetheart,  and  living 
over  those  dreams  of  young  love. 

For  a  long  hour,  so  keen  was  the  spell,  he 
wandered  about  that  distant  village,  in  fancy, 
and  dwelt  among  bygones,  and  then  suddenly 
he  became  conscious  that  some  creature  was 
stealthily  crawling  through  the  thick  under- 
growth back  of  the  tent.  Only  the  faintest 
sounds  betrayed  its  presence,  —  the  swish  of 
a  spruce  bough  brushed  aside  and  returning 
to  place,  the  breaking  of  a  dead  twig,  the 
rustle  of  a  dry  leaf,  —  and  yet,  so  perfect  was 
the  utter  silence  of  that  June  night,  each 
trivial  sound  reached  him. 

For  a  moment  he  listened,  breathless,  to 
this  approaching  prowler,  then  rose  to  a  sit- 
ting posture,  reached  for  his  rifle,  and,  softly 
drawing  the  tent  flap  aside,  peeped  out.  What- 
ever the  creature  was,  its  acute  hearing  had 
received  warning,  for  now  no  sound  issued 
from  the  surrounding  thicket.  For  a  seem- 
ingly long  five  minutes  Martin  peered  out, 


IO  THE   HERMIT 

glancing  from  side  to  side  of  the  little  open- 
ing and  to  the  canoes,  beneath  which  lay  the 
guides,  and  listened.  He  could  hear  their 
measured  breathing,  the  faint  ripple  along  the 
lake  shore  near  by,  and  that  was  all.  Then 
once  more  the  creeping,  crawling,  stealthy 
movement  in  the  tangle  just  back  of  the 
tent  began  again,  this  time  slowly  receding 
until  it  ceased. 

A  danger  we  can  measure  does  not  appal 
us,  but  the  invisible  menace  of  some  animal 
creeping  close  to  one's  tent  at  night  in  the 
wilderness  is  another  matter.  It  may  be  a 
harmless  porcupine,  but  we  are  sure  to  imagine 
it  to  be  a  bear,  panther,  or  wildcat,  —  at  least 
Martin  did, — but  after  a  half -hour  more  of 
listening  without  result,  except  to  get  chilled, 
he  gave  it  up  and  crept  under  his  blanket 
again. 

"I'd  better  not  tell  the  doctor,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and  then  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   CURIOUS   FOOTPRINT 

THE  morning  concert  of  song  birds,  always 
heard  in  the  wilderness  in  May  and  June,  was 
in  full  force  when  Martin  crept  out  of  the 
tent  next  morning.  The  sun  was  just  peep- 
ing through  the  spruce  tops,  a  film  of  thin 
gray  fog  covered  the  placid  lake,  and  Levi 
had  just  started  a  fire.  Then  came  the  usual 
wash  in  the  clear,  cold  lake  water,  the  gather- 
ing around  the  bright  fire  to  watch  the  guides 
cooking,  the  keen  appetite  for  the  simple 
breakfast  of  fried  trout,  ham,  eggs,  and  coffee, 
eaten  while  sitting  cross-legged  on  a  moss- 
covered  log,  the  packing  up  of  their  belong- 
ings, the  launching  and  loading  of  canoes, 
and  so  the  day  began. 

"We  have  an  easy  day  ahead  of  us," 
observed  Martin,  when  they  were  ready  to 
start,  "a  good  twenty  miles  up  the  Moose- 
ii 


12  THE   HERMIT 

horn,  which  enters  this  lake  close  by,  with  no 
quick  water  or  carries.  We  can  reach  the 
North  Branch  in  ample  time  to  make  camp 
to-night  and  catch  some  trout  there  for  sup- 
per." It  was  an  attractive  programme,  almost 
unvarying  for  all  such  days  in  the  wilderness, 
and  so  pleasant  that  the  impress  of  the  pre- 
vious night's  caller,  creeping  close  to  the  tent, 
had  almost  vanished  from  Martin's  mind.  But 
it  was  soon  recalled  in  an  unexpected  way, 
for  Levi,  always  last  to  leave  each  camping 
spot,  was  about  to  enter  his  canoe  and  push 
off,  when  he  paused,  and  stepping  to  one  side 
on  the  bit  of  beach,  stooped  over,  looking  at 
something. 

"What  is  it?"  queried  Martin,  from  the 
canoe. 

"I  dunno;  you  better  come  an'  see,"  answered 
Levi. 

Martin  stepped  out  of  the  canoe  and  to  where 
his  guide  stood,  to  be  as  much  astonished,  for 
there  in  the  hard  damp  sand,  close  to  the 
bank,  was  a  queer  footprint.  It  was  longer 
than  one  made  by  a  human  foot,  with  the 
deeply  indented  claw  marks  of  a  panther. 


A  CURIOUS  FOOTPRINT  13 

Only  these  showed  distinctly,  for  the  heel 
mark  was  scarcely  visible.  It  looked  as  if 
the  creature  making  it  had  come  out  of  the 
water  and  up  on  to  the  harder  bank,  where  no 
track  would  show. 

"Well,"  said  Martin  again,  after  a  long  ex- 
amination, "what  is  it?" 

"  It's  more'n  I  can  tell,"  replied  Levi,  shak- 
ing his  head  and  measuring  the  claw  prints 
with  a  twig.  "  If  he's  a  panther,  he  had  longer 
claws  'n  I  ever  saw,  'n'  I  never  knew  one  to  have 
a  heel  mark  like  that,  or  step  in  the  water  if 
he  could  help  it.  It  beats  me." 

"  What  have  you  found  ? "  called  the  doctor 
from  his  canoe  out  in  the  lake. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Martin ;  "  only 
the  track  of  an  otter,"  and  he  stepped  into  his 
canoe  again  and  they  paddled  away. 

Then  he  told  Levi  about  their  night  visitor, 
creeping  about  the  tent. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  wise  to  tell  the  doctor 
or  Jean,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "  or  speak  of 
this  queer  track.  It's  the  doctor's  first  trip 
into  the  woods,  and  such  things  will  alarm 
him  unduly  and  spoil  his  enjoyment."  And 


14  THE   HERMIT 

so  the  singular  footprint  and  its  possible  con- 
nection with  the  creature  who  had  crept  up  to 
their  tent  at  midnight  was  left  behind. 

Usually  two  sportsmen,  in  canoeing  up- 
stream especially,  will  keep  along  together, 
but  somehow  that  day  it  happened  that  Dr. 
Sol  and  Jean  were  first  to  reach  the  junction 
of  the  North  Branch  with  the  broad  and  slow- 
running  Moosehorn,  and  the  lowering  sun  had 
left  its  valley  in  shadow  ere  Jean  pushed  his 
canoe  ashore  and  the  doctor  stepped  out.  It 
was,  as  Martin  had  stated,  a  good  camping 
spot,  for  the  entrance  to  an  old  tote-road  fur- 
nished a  clear  space,  an  endless  procession  of 
foam  flecks  on  the  Branch  emerged  from  the 
shadow  of  its  overhang  and  wheeled  into  the 
broader  stream,  while  the  music  of  a  little 
cascade  just  back  in  the  woods  suggested 
trout. 

"  I  wonder  why  Martin  don't  keep  in  sight," 
complained  the  doctor,  first  glancing  up  to 
where  the  sun  had  vanished  behind  the  low 
range  of  mountains  and  then  down  the 
Moosehorn.  "  It'll  be  dark  before  we  know 
it,  and  he's  got  the  tent  in  his  canoe.  You 


A  CURIOUS   FOOTPRINT  15 

don't  suppose  anything's  happened  to  them, 
Jean  ? " 

"  Not  so  when  Levi  Morris  is  paddlin'," 
answered  Jean,  "  he  one  ver'  safe  man."  Then, 
making  a  half  scoop  with  one  hand  behind 
his  ear,  he  added,  "  I  hear  'em  now,  V  they 
'bout  half  mile  down." 

Dr.  Sol  looked  at  his  guide  in  admiration. 
To  his  unpractised  ear  no  sound  except  that 
of  running  water  broke  the  forest  stillness. 

"  You  may  jis'  so  well  go  fish,"  continued 
Jean,  turning  to  the  canoe  and  taking  from  it 
a  small  axe,  "  zar  be  one  ver'  nice  hole  up  ze 
stream  few  rod,"  and  he  pointed  where  a  bush- 
choked  opening  showed  that  a  tote-road  had 
once  been  cut  alongside  the  Branch. 

Dr.  Sol  eyed  it  suspiciously.  "  No  bears 
or  panthers  up  there,  Jean  ? "  he  queried. 

"  If  you  see  him,  he  see  you  fust,  an'  you 
no  see  him,"  came  the  paradoxical  answer,  as 
Jean  began  cutting  away  the  undergrowth  with 
his  hunting-knife,  preparatory  to  the  erection 
of  a  tent. 

Dr.  Sol  reached  for  his  rod,  jointed  it,  still 
glancing  furtively  into  the  sombre  wilderness, 


1 6  THE   HERMIT 

and  then  down  the  stream  again.  "  I  wish 
Frisbie  would  keep  up,"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 
"  I  want  trout  for  supper,  but  I'm  not  just 
anxious  to  go  into  the  woods  alone  after 
them." 

But  the  floating  foam  flecks,  the  call  of  the 
running  waters,  and  the  love  of  sport  conquered 
the  forbidding  forest,  and  with  one  more  glance 
down  the  Moosehorn  he  started  up  the  almost 
invisible  path. 

From  the  sound,  the  little  cascade  he  could 
hear  must  be  scarce  ten  rods  in,  but  as  he 
followed  the  old  log  road,  now  close  beside 
the  stream,  and  then  bending  away,  while  he 
pushed  aside  the  undergrowth  taller  than  him- 
self, it  seemed  ever  a  little  beyond.  Just  as 
his  courage  had  nearly  ebbed,  the  faint  path 
turned  down  beside  the  stream  once  more,  and 
here  its  current,  merely  fretted  by  a  hidden 
ledge,  was  making  the  music  that  had  lured 
him  in.  Like  a  boy  now,  in  his  eagerness, 
he  adjusted  his  tackle,  and  with  a  short  cast 
lightly  threw  the  gaudy  flies  into  the  pool 
below,  and  let  them  float  down.  In  an  instant 
came  a  leap  and  splash  as  a  pound  trout  took 


A  CURIOUS   FOOTPRINT  17 

the  tempting  morsel,  and  the  sport  began. 
One  after  another  the  little  doctor  reeled  in, 
oblivious  now  to  bears,  panthers,  or  the  solemn 
stillness  of  the  wilderness,  and  happy  as  only 
a  true  sportsman  can  be. 

A  dozen  had  been  tossed  in  rapid  succession 
behind  a  rotting  stump,  when,  forgetting  the 
trees  back  of  him,  he  hooked  one  limb  hard 
and  fast.  To  climb  such  a  spruce,  with  branches 
so  thick  a  squirrel  only  could  do  it,  was  impos- 
sible, and,  with  a  muttered  imprecation,  the 
doctor  pulled  on  his  line  until  the  delicate 
leader  broke,  and  then  sat  down  to  repair  dam- 
ages. He  had  just  done  so  and  arisen,  when 
the  faint  sound  of  a  breaking  twig  caught  his 
attention.  With  a  quick  glance  across  the 
stream,  where  a  rocky  and  bush-hid  bank  faced 
him,  he  saw,  in  the  darkening  twilight,  just 
above  a  brown,  moss-covered  boulder,  a  hide- 
ous, hairy,  human  face ! 

One  instant  only  he  saw  it,  the  next  it  had 
vanished. 

For  a  moment  Dr.  Sol,  never  a  coura- 
geous man,  stood  still,  while  it  seemed  that 
icy  water  was  leaping  through  every  vein ;  the 


1 8  THE   HERMIT 

next  instant  he  turned  and  ran  down  the  bush- 
choked  path  as  if  pursued  by  demons.  Each 
moment,  as  he  dove  under  bending  boughs  or 
leaped  over  fallen  trees,  he  felt  that  a  hairy, 
human  monster  was  just  behind  and  about  to 
seize  him. 

When  the  camp-fire  was  reached,  Martin 
had  arrived  and  was  cutting  boughs  with  a 
hunting-knife,  while  Jean  and  Levi  were  just 
entering  the  tent.  A  fire  had  been  started,  a 
blackened  pail  had  been  hung  from  a  stick 
over  the  flame,  and  preparations  for  a  night 
in  the  woods  were  well  under  way.  Into  this 
little  group  leaped  the  terrified  doctor,  breath- 
less, with  face  scratched  and  bleeding. 

"  Pack  up,  quick ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a  husky 
voice ;  "  we've  got  to  get  out  of  here  at  once ! 
There's  a  wild  man  back  up  in  the  woods, 
and  I  wouldn't  stay  here  for  a  million 
dollars ! " 

Martin  and  Levi  exchanged  quick  glances, 
and  a  halt  came  in  the  camping  work.  For 
a  moment  the  two  looked  at  one  another,  and 
then,  as  if  recalling  that  curious  footprint  they 
had  seen  twenty  miles  away,  they  glanced  fur- 


A  CURIOUS   FOOTPRINT  19 

tively  up  the  bush-choked  log  road.  One  in- 
stant only  Martin  hesitated,  and  then  he 
recovered  himself. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  I  expected  you  would 
get  well  scared  the  first  time  you  went  into 
the  woods  alone,  and  I  see  you  have.  What 
you  saw,  most  likely,  was  a  blackened  stump 
half  hid  in  the  bushes,  or  possibly  it  might 
have  been  a  bear.  If  so,  he  is  a  mile  away 
by  now,  more  scared  than  you  are.  Here, 
take  a  drink,  brace  up,  and  help  us  to  make 
camp.  It's  almost  dark." 

But  Dr.  Sol  was  obdurate.  "  I  tell  you, 
Martin  Frisbie,"  he  replied  sternly,  heeding 
not  the  proffered  flask,  "  I  wouldn't  stay  here 
a  night  for  love  nor  money.  We  are  watched, 
and  by  the  most  savage-looking  creature  I  ever 
set  eyes  on."  Then,  with  many  additions,  as 
might  be  expected,  he  told  the  story  of  his 
fright. 

Martin  and  Levi  exchanged  knowing  looks 
once  more,  but  made  no  comment  until  the 
tale  was  told,  and  then  Martin  spoke. 

"  Levi,"  he  said,  "  what  do  you  say ;  is  it 
go  on,  or  stay  ?  " 


2O  THE   HERMIT 

"  We've  got  to  stay ! "  came  the  resolute 
answer ;  "  thar  ain't  a  campin'  spot  within  five 
miles  either  up  or  down  the  Moosehorn,  and 
it's  too  late  to  cut  one  out ! "  And  once  more 
he  began  work. 

As  for  Martin,  he  was  inwardly  nervous  but 
outwardly  calm.  He  had  not  quite  recovered 
from  the  previous  night's  experience  and  the 
queer  footprints,  however,  and  yet  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  that  had  any  connection 
with  the  cause  of  the  doctor's  fright.  And 
yet,  it  might  have. 

Then  another  thought  came,  and  it  added 
to  his  fears.  They  had  started  early  and 
paddled  a  good  twenty  miles  up  an  almost 
currentless  stream ;  on  either  bank  lay  an 
impassable  wilderness,  much  of  it  swampy. 
No  hunter  or  trapper  stealing  along  ahead 
had  been  sighted  that  day,  and  if  this  wild 
man  the  doctor  had  seen  was  he  who  was 
prowling  around  their  tent  the  night  before, 
how  had  he  reached  this  spot? 

But  Martin  had  already  decided  upon  his 
own  course,  and  though  startled  somewhat  by 
the  doctor's  fright,  he  now  pulled  himself 


A  CURIOUS   FOOTPRINT  21 

together  once  more  and  attempted  to  calm  his 
frightened  comrade. 

"  It  •  may  have  been  some  hairy-faced,  old 
trapper  that  you  saw,  doctor,"  he  said  finally, 
"  and  they  are  harmless.  If  it  was,  he  will 
show  up  by  and  by,  and  hang  around  till  we 
offer  him  a  drink.  I've  met  them  many  times 
here  in  the  wilderness  before,  and  a  little  good 
rum  secures  their  friendship  for  life,  so  don't 
worry."  And  Martin  resumed  his  cutting  of 
boughs. 

When  supper  was  over  and  night  had  quite 
shut  them  in  about  the  camp-fire,  conversation 
was  resumed  and  Levi  told  a  story  with  the 
seeming  intent  of  allaying  the  doctor's  fears. 

"Thar's  a  good  many  hunters  'n'  trappers 
livin'  up  here  in  the  woods  somewhar,"  he 
said,  "  'n'  thar's  no  tellin'  when  one  on  'em  '11 
show  up.  I  was  campin'  one  fall,  way  up  on 
the  Allagash,  me  'n'  Pete  Roncou, — that's  a 
cousin  o'  Jean's  here,  —  'n'  we  had  some  traps 
set  for  otter.  Well,  thar  was  a  storm  coming 
up  that  night,  an'  though  we'd  been  thar  a 
week,  we  hadn't  heerd  a  single  loon,  an'  knew 
'twas  so  late  they'd  all  gone  South,  an'  all 


22  THE   HERMIT 

'twonce  we  heard  one  clus  in  shore.  'Pete,' 
said  I,  '  that's  queer ;  we  ain't  heered  a  loon 
sence  we  came,  'n'  now  thar's  one  squallinV 
''Tain't  no  loon,'  said  Pete,  'it's  a  human.' 
Well,  a  loon,  long  way  off,  sounds  good 
deal  like  a  human,  but  clus  to,  not  a  mite. 
In  a  minute  it  squaked  agin,  'n'  this  time  it 
sounded  jist  like  '  h-e-e-e-1-p  ! ' ' 

" '  I  tell  ye,  it's  a  human,'  said  Pete,  an'  with 
that  we  each  on  us  grabbed  a  brand  'n'  started. 
I  don't  just  know  what  made  me,  but  I  grabbed 
my  gun,  too  ;  but  Pete,  he  never  thought  o' 
his'n.  Well,  we  heerd  it  again,  'n'  this  time 
'twas  a  reg'ler  human  holler  fer  help.  We 
hallooed  back  'n'  it  answered  'n'  we  kept  on  goin' 
'n'  wavin'  the  sticks  to  keep  'em  goin',  an' 
finally  they  went  out,  an'  arter  they'd  gone  out, 
we  kept  on  hollerin',  but  didn't  git  any  back. 
We  hed  hard  work  to  git  back  ourselves,  tho', 
fer  we  hed  to  guess  at  it." 

He  paused,  as  if  the  sequel  were  not  worth 
telling. 

"Well,"  put  in  the  doctor,  "what  then? 
Did  you  ever  find  what  it  was  ? " 

"  Not  'zactly,  but  we  sorter  guessed  from  the 


A  CURIOUS  FOOTPRINT  23 

moccasin  tracks  'twas  an  Injun  that  had  sneaked 
into  our  camp  while  we  was  loon  huntin',  fer 
Pete's  gun  an'  all  our  shells  was  missin'.  That 
was  more'n  ten  years  ago,  'n'  Pete  ain't  heerd 
the  last  on't  yit" 

"  Are  there  many  Indians  wild  in  these  woods 
now  ?  "  queried  the  doctor,  glancing  up  to 
where  the  zone  of  firelight  outlined  the  entrance 
to  the  old  tote-road ;  "  I  thought  they  were  all 
civilized." 

"  So  they  are,"  replied  Martin,  not  waiting 
for  Levi,  "  and  that's  why  some  of  them  adopt 
white  men's  methods  of  getting  what  they  want." 

"  But  the  face  I  saw  belonged  to  a  white  man," 
interjected  the  doctor,  who  had  not  recovered 
from  it,  "and  it  wore  a  most  demoniac  look, 
with  grizzly  hair  all  around  and  a  mat  of  it  on 
top." 

"That  may  be,"  returned  Martin,  "and  so 
would  any  old  trapper  look  when  you  saw  him. 
They  never  shave  or  get  a  hair  cut  from  one 
year's  end  to  another,  and  all  look  alike  — 
ragged,  hairy,  and  dirty.  I've  met  them  often, 
and,  as  I  told  you,  they  are  all  harmless  and  love 
rum.  If  you  saw  one,  —  which  I  doubt, —  he 


24  THE   HERMIT 

is  like  all  the  rest,  and  by  now  is  fast  asleep  up 
back  of  here  in  the  bushes." 

With  that  Martin  arose,  for  it  was  time  to 
turn  in,  glanced  first  at  the  starlit  sky  and  then 
up  at  the  opening  in  the  forest  back  of  the 
tent.  At  that  moment  Levi  chanced  to  throw  a 
handful  of  fir  boughs  on  the  dying  fire,  and  as 
the  flames  flashed  in  response  and  the  zone  of 
light  widened,  Martin  caught  the  full  view  of 
a  hideous  human  face  peeping  out  from  behind 
a  stunted  spruce. 

One  moment  only  he  saw  the  gray  hairy  vis- 
age ;  the  next  it  had  disappeared. 


ONE   MOMENT    ONLY   HE    SAW   THE    GRAY,    HAIRY   VISAGE  —  Page   24 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    WILD    MAN 

THE  wilderness  has  many  moods  —  grave, 
gay,  grand,  and  mysterious.  The  morning 
melody  of  the  birds  in  spring,  the  laughter  of 
brooks  deep  hidden  in  impassable  thickets,  the 
loud-voiced  rapids  leaping  down  rock-walled 
gorges,  the  fir-clad  mountains  that  shut  one 
in,  the  bending  spruce  and  cedar  mirrored  in 
placid  lakes,  —  each  and  all  have  their  own  mood 
and  leave  their  own  particular  impress  on 
one's  feelings. 

But  back  of  these  and  ever  in  waiting  is  the 
unvarying  and  ever  present  mystery  of  the 
solemn  forest.  To  a  novice  in  the  woods  there 
is  a  certain  weird  Presence  ever  existent  in 
these  solitudes ;  a  subtle,  invisible  mystery 
scarce  comprehended  and  impossible  to  explain. 
To  look  into  never  penetrated  and  almost  im- 
25 


26  THE   HERMIT 

passable  forest  glades  is  to  half  expect  to  see 
some  new  and  hideous  shape,  some  strange  crea- 
ture glaring  out  of  shadow.  Walk  in  a  little, 
and  this  lurking  sense  of  danger  increases  — 
you  stop,  listen,  look  about,  then  go  on,  declar- 
ing to  yourself  that  you  are  not  afraid,  and  yet 
you  are.  The  woods  seem  thicker  and  darker, 
rocks  take  on  animal  shapes,  or,  half  hid  be- 
neath fallen  trees,  resemble  gnome  faces  or 
ogre  forms,  shrinking  in  hiding.  Penetrate  a 
little  farther  and  every  tiny  sound  becomes 
magnified.  A  bird  flitting  by  is  like  the  rush 
of  an  eagle ;  an  owl's  hoot,  a  crash  of  thunder  ; 
a  squirrel  hurrying  away,  the  rapid  footsteps 
of  a  fierce  savage.  You  can  hear  your  own 
heart  beating.  A  sense  of  near  danger  ever 
increases,  and  the  deeper  into  the  pathless 
forest  you  go,  the  more  the  supernatural, 
ominous  sense  of  invisible  menace  —  this  face 
to  face  with  some  awful-Presence-feeling  comes 
to  you.  You  agree  with  yourself  that  it  is  folly 
—  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  wilderness  except 
beasts  afraid  of  you,  and  for  them  you  have  a 
trusty  rifle.  You  go  on  and  on,  each  step  a 
little  weaker,  till  at  last  the  Presence  has  con- 


THE   WILD    MAN  27 

quered  and  you  retrace  your  steps  to  human 
companionship. 

If  this  be  the  forest  in  daylight,  what  would 
it  be  in  the  inky  blackness  of  night  ?  Full  well 
Martin  Frisbie  knew  all  wilderness  moods,  for 
he  had  met  them  many  times.  Yet,  at  the 
moment  he  saw  this  vanishing  apparition,  not 
to  save  all  his  wealth  could  he  have  pursued  it 
inter  the  darkness  one  rod.  But  he  had  good 
command  of  himself,  and,  uttering  not  a  word, 
he  turned  and  heaped  more  fuel  on  the  fire. 
Then  he  sat  down  beside  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  turn  in  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
doctor,  who  had  already  entered  the  tent. 

"  I  will,  presently ;  I  want  a  smoke  first." 
And  Martin  coolly  filled  and  lit  his  pipe. 

Then  he  heaped  the  fire  with  fuel  as  if  ruddy 
flames  were  a  protection,  and  lying  down  be- 
tween it  and  the  stream,  and  resting  head  on 
hand  and  elbow,  he  covertly  watched  the 
opening  in  the  woods. 

Presently  Jean,  the  doctor's  guide,  yawned, 
picked  up  his  blanket,  wrapped  himself  in  it 
and  crept  under  his  canoe.  And  now  Martin 
arose,  peeped  into  the  tent,  satisfied  himself 


28  THE   HERMIT 

that  the  doctor  was  asleep,  and  returned  to  the 
fire. 

"Levi,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "the  doctor 
was  right.  We  are  watched  by  a  queer-looking 
man.  I  saw  him  a  little  while  ago,  just  back  of 
the  tent." 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  a  moment  in 
silence  and  then  at  the  dark  opening  in  the 
forest. 

"  Well,"  whispered  Martin  again,  "  what  was 
it  ? " 

For  answer  Levi  cautiously  but  quickly 
stepped  to  one  side  of  the  tent,  knelt,  stooped, 
and  laid  his  ear  to  the  ground.  For  full  five 
minutes  he  lay  prone,  then  beckoned  to  Martin 
to  join  him.  He  did  so,  and  as  the  crackle  of 
the  fire  died  out,  Martin  caught  the  sound  of  a 
stealthy  tread,  at  wide  intervals,  and  slowly 
receding  into  the  forest.  Finally  that  ceased, 
and  only  the  low  murmur  of  the  Branch  broke 
the  utter  stillness. 

Then  the  two  arose  and  returned  to  the  fire, 
now  only  a  faint  glow  of  embers. 

"Well,"  whispered  Martin  once  more,  look- 
ing at  his  guide,  "  what  was  it  ?  " 


THE  WILD   MAN  29 

Levi  shook  his  head. 

"  It  sounded  like  a  bear  creepin'  through 
the  brush;  they  go  that  way." 

"  It  wasn't  a  bear  I  saw." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Levi  once  more,  "and 
that's  what  beats  me." 

For  a  long  time  the  two  watched  each  other, 
listening  to  the  faint  voice  of  the  stream,  alert 
and  keen  lest  any  sound  escape  them.  At  last 
Martin  spoke. 

"  Levi,"  he  said,  "  we  have  spent  many 
weeks  in  this  wilderness  together,  and  I  know 
I  can  trust  you.  What  I  saw  is  a  mystery,  and 
we  may  solve  it  and  we  may  not,  but  until  we 
do,  neither  the  doctor  nor  Jean  must  know  we 
have  been  watched  by  this  strange  creature. 
As  I  told  you,  it's  my  friend's  first  visit  to  the 
woods,  and  timid  as  he  is,  if  once  he  learned 
what  I  saw,  no  power  could  keep  him  here 
longer  than  it  would  take  to  get  out.  I  shall 
try  to  convince  him  that  he  saw  a  rock  or 
stump,  and  you  must  help  do  it."  Levi  nodded. 

"  I  think  I'll  turn  in  now,"  continued  Martin, 
"  and  you  may  as  well." 

But  his   faithful   guide   only   put  more  fuel 


30  THE   HERMIT 

on  the  fire  and,  taking  Martin's  rifle,  sat  down 
beside  it." 

"  I'll  keep  watch  a  spell,"  he  said ;  "  it's  just 
as  well." 

When  Martin,  awakened  by  the  first  notes 
of  the  inevitable  bird  concert,  emerged  from 
the  tent,  the  fire  was  still  smouldering,  and  Levi 
rolled  in  his  blanket  fast  asleep  beside  it. 
Without  awakening  him  he  picked  up  the  rifle 
and  carefully  entered  the  old  log  road.  Step 
by  step  he  followed  it,  slowly  and  like  a  true 
woodsman,  ever  watching  for  signs  of  man  or 
beast.  The  doctor's  tracks,  both  going  and 
coming,  were  plain,  and  when  the  path  turned 
down  to  the  stream,  his  rod  was  found ;  but 
although  Martin  looked  well  about,  not  a  soli- 
tary one  could  be  found  of  the  dozen  or  more 
trout  claimed  to  have  been  caught.  Martin  saw 
the  stump  back  of  which  the  doctor  had 
thrown  them,  saw  his  tracks  on  the  soft  bank 
—  grass  trampled,  bushes  broken  —  and  that 
was  all.  Then  he  looked  across  the  stream, 
and  there  too  was  the  boulder  from  behind 
which  this  wild  man  had  glared. 

Cautiously,  and  peering  often  up  and  down 


THE  WILD   MAN  31 

the  stream  and  into  the  thick  forest,  now  gray 
with  morning  light,  he  crossed,  stepping  from 
rock  to  rock  just  out  of  the  water.  Back  of 
the  boulder  the  rotting  leaves  showed  fresh 
disturbance,  and  from  its  side  bits  of  damp 
moss  had  been  scraped.  Then  he  noted  the 
faint  forest  sign  of  leaves  that  had  been  trod- 
den upon  or  turned  over,  leading  up  the  brook 
and  beneath  the  overhanging  firs.  Only  a  few 
rods  he  followed  them,  for  the  undergrowth 
was  more  than  dense,  and  then  he  returned  to 
the  crossing.  Here,  on  a  bit  of  sandy  bank, 
washed  up  by  the  spring  freshet,  he  saw  that 
same  footprint  once  more  —  a  huge,  horrible 
track,  half  brute,  half  human,  with  the  heel 
mark  of  a  man's  foot  round  and  deep,  and  the 
toe  mark  of  a  panther's  claws !  Involuntarily 
he  cocked  his  rifle,  looked  about,  and  listened. 

Only  the  morning  light,  now  bright  and  clear, 
the  low  note  of  the  stream  at  his  feet,  the  song 
of  birds ! 

He  stooped  and  measured  those  claw  prints 
with  a  twig  as  Levi  had.  A  full  inch  in  depth 
they  were,  with  a  spread  of  at  least  five  inches  — 
wider  than  the  largest  human  foot. 


32  THE   HERMIT 

Then  he  turned  back  to  where  the  doctor 
had  stood  and  fished.  Here,  unobserved  at 
first,  and  distinct  in  the  doctor's  tracks,  Martin 
found  the  claw  prints  again. 

Once  again  he  listened  long,  looking  all  about 
and  half  expecting  to  see  that  face  in  the  dense 
undergrowth.  Then,  as  the  intangible  menace 
grew  upon  him,  he  turned  and  almost  ran  down 
the  bushy  path  to  the  camp. 

Levi  only  was  up,  and  he  was  just  starting 
a  fire.  Without  a  word  Martin  beckoned  him 
to  follow,  and  together  they  returned  to  the 
puzzling  tracks.  Like  an  Indian  trailing  his 
enemy  in  the  pathless  forest,  so  did  Levi  now 
follow  and  examine  those  footprints.  All  about 
where  the  doctor  'stood  he  traced  them,  then 
back  and  up  the  old  wood  road  to  where  a 
fallen  tree  blocked  the  way,  while  Martin 
watched  his  every  motion.  And  here  that 
keen  woodsman,  peering  into  these  interlacing 
boughs,  suddenly  reached  up  to  one,  and,  de- 
taching something,  held  it  up  to  the  light. 
It  was  a  long,  white  hair ! 

With  intense  interest  Martin  looked  at  that 
somewhat  curly  token  of  a  human  scalp  which 


THE  WILD    MAN  33 

his  guide  held  aloft,  then,  taking  it  between 
thumb  and  finger,  quietly  wound  it  into  a  tiny 
coil  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  is  it  ? " 

"  It's  a  critter  that  walks  on  two  legs,"  re- 
sponded Levi,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  "but 
them  tracks  is  cur'us.  I  never  knowed  an 
Injun  with  white  hair,  either." 

To  Martin  this  was  a  new  possibility. 

"  He  come  down  this  path,"  continued  Levi, 
as  he  slowly  led  the  way  back,  half  stooping, 
the  better  to  watch  for  tracks,  "  V  he  went 
back  the  same  way,  steppin'  strong,  'n'  on  his 
hind  legs." 

"  It's  a  human  being,  then,"  put  in  Martin, 
as  they  reached  the  stream  again  and  halted. 

"Yes,  it's  a  human,  mebbe,"  admitted  Levi 
once  more,  shaking  his  head,  "  only  them  tracks 
ain't." 

For  a  moment  Martin  pondered.  And  in 
that  instant  a  dilemma  confronted  him.  To 
obey  his  keen  hunter's  instinct  and  follow  this 
strange  creature  into  the  wilderness,  he  could 
not  with  timid  Dr.  Sol  on  his  hands;  neither 
did  he  dare  even  to  let  his  old-time  friend  know 


34  THE   HERMIT 

what  a  strange  creature  had  watched  them. 
And  suppose  he  were  alone,  with  his  trusted 
and  faithful  guide,  and  they  should  follow  and 
come  upon  this  mysterious  animal  —  this  pos- 
sible beast  or  possible  man  —  what  then  ? 

"  Levi,"  he  said  suddenly,  his  mind  made  up, 
"we  must  get  out  of  here  as  soon  as  we  can 
pack  and  start.  And  mind  you,  not  one  word 
or  hint  to  Jean  or  the  doctor." 

Jean  was  busy  cooking  breakfast,  and  Dr. 
Sol  watching  and  sniffing  the  pleasant  odor  of 
the  frying  ham,  when  Martin  and  Levi  reached 
camp. 

"Well,  did  you  see  the  wild  man?"  queried 
the  doctor. 

"  No,"  answered  Martin,  smiling,  "  but  we 
saw  the  big  gray  rock  that  scared  you,  and 
found  your  rod  where  you  dropped  it.  I  think 
a  mink  carried  your  trout  off  —  that  is,  if  you 
caught  any." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

MARTIN'S  first  impulse  had  been  to  pursue 
and  solve  the  identity  of  this  half-human,  half- 
brute  creature  who  had  peeped  into  their  camp- 
fire  circle ;  the  next,  and  kindlier  one,  to 
avoid  alarming  the  timid  doctor  and  pay  no 
heed  to  it,  but  go  on  as  planned.  But  resolving 
and  doing  are  wide-apart  impulses,  not  al- 
ways reconciled,  and  although  Martin  was  not 
one  whose  mind  turned  like  a  weather-vane, 
yet  while  he  was  cheerfully  deceiving  Dr. 
Sol,  his  thoughts  were  away  in  the  shadowy 
forest,  pursuing  an  ogreish  creature.  Neither 
did  his  will  banish  this  mystery  in  the  least, 
for  when  breakfast  was  disposed  of,  tent 
struck,  canoes  loaded,  and  they  paddled  away 
up  the  Moosehorn,  its  clutch  was  still  upon  him. 
All  that  bright  morning,  while  they  pushed  up 
the  winding  and  almost  currentless  stream,  now 
35 


36  THE   HERMIT 

shadowed  by  spruce  and  then  broadening  into 
long  and  narrow  lakelets,  faintly  rippled  and 
sparkling  in  the  sunlight,  its  spectral  hand 
reached  out  from  every  shadowy  opening. 
Over  and  over  again  had  he  and  Levi  dis- 
cussed this  strange  visitor,  only  to  fail  of  reach- 
ing any  tangible  solution  or  solve  any  part  of 
the  mystery,  and  when  noon  came,  and  they 
halted  where  a  short  rapid  compelled  a  carry, 
Martin  had  hard  work  to  keep  from  making  a 
clean  breast  to  the  doctor  of  all  he  had  seen 
and  imagined.  Then,  as  if  to  drive  him  to 
confession,  here  at  this  landing  he  came  upon 
two  more  mysterious  discoveries. 

They  had  decided  to  cook  dinner  here,  and  as 
usual,  while  the  guides  prepared  it,  Martin  and 
the  doctor  tried  for  trout.  Both  made  a  few 
casts  in  the  same  pool  below  the  rapids,  and 
then  Martin,  leaving  his  friend,  started  up  the 
path  that  led  around  the  rapids  to  try  in  an- 
other pool.  With  more  thought  for  tracks  than 
trout  he  walked  slowly,  half  stooping  and  scan- 
ning every  spot  where  one  might  show.  None 
were  found  until  the  path  ended  at  the  stream 
once  more,  and  here,  on  a  bit  of  sandy  margin, 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  THE  WILDERNESS        37 

and  as  if  the  creature  had  stepped  out  of  the 
water,  were  the  same  broad  and  well-marked 
claw  prints.  Then,  turning  back,  now  that  he 
had  found  the  trail,  and,  with  hunter's  cunning, 
locating  where  the  next  step  should  be,  he 
found  a  dozen  others,  though  so  faintly  defined 
that  only  the  prints  of  sharp  claws  were  visible 
in  the  hard  soil,  or  a  bit  of  moss  scratched  from 
a  stone  showed  where  the  animal  had  stepped. 
All  pointed  down-stream  and  were  made  as  the 
others  were  —  by  a  creature  walking  upright ! 

Then,  leaving  the  path  and  crowding  through 
the  undergrowth  to  an  eddying  pool  in  the 
rapids,  Martin  made  a  cast.  It  scored,  and 
then  another  and  still  another  speckled  beauty 
was  hooked  and  reeled  in,  and  the  keen  zest  of 
time,  place,  and  sport  had,  for  the  moment, 
obliterated  all  other  thought,  when,  in  stepping 
from  one  rock  to  another  above,  he  saw,  wedged 
between  them,  a  curious  bit  of  driftwood,  one 
end  of  which  seemed  to  grin  at  him.  It  was 
that  that  caught  his  eye,  and  stooping,  he  pulled 
it  from  between  the  rocks  and  found  it  to  be 
the  handle  of  a  broken  paddle,  with  the  knob 
carved  into  semblance  of  a  human  skull.  So 


38  THE   HERMIT 

realistic  had  this  unknown  artist  tried  to  be, 
that  he  had  inserted  a  row  of  small,  catlike  teeth 
in  the  skull's  mouth  and  dyed  the  eye  and  nose 
sockets  red.  The  sun  and  rain  had  almost 
removed  this,  but  the  teeth  still  held  in  place. 
It  was  a  curious  bit  of  flotsam,  evidently  tossed 
up  and  caught  between  the  rocks  during  some 
freshet,  and  then  left  to  bleach  in  sun  and  storm. 
It  had  seemingly  been  so  exposed  for  more 
than  one  year,  for  it  was  almost  white.  It  did 
not  appeal  to  Martin  as  having  any  connection 
with  the  mystery  he  had  come  upon,  but  merely 
as  the  long-ago  handiwork  of  some  eccentric 
trapper  or  hunter  thus  killing  time.  It  was  a 
curio,  but  when  he  returned  to  the  canoes  at 
call  to  dinner,  he  said  nothing,  but  quietly 
tucked  it  into  the  bow  of  his  canoe. 

When  dinner  was  over,  the  doctor,  who 
wanted  to  fish  most  of  the  time,  returned  to 
his  pool,  Jean  began  washing  the  dishes,  and 
then  a  look  and  nod  from  Martin  to  Levi 
were  enough,  and  together  they  walked  up 
the  path. 

"  Our  friend  of  last  night  came  down  this 
way  not  long  ago,"  asserted  Martin,  quietly, 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  THE   WILDERNESS         39 

pointing  to  the  best-defined  tracks  on  the 
stream's  bank,  "and  now  can  you  tell  me 
when  ? " 

Levi  kneeled  and  studied  them  well.  Then 
glancing  up  to  the  sun,  and  back  to  where 
one  track  just  emerged  from  the  shadow  of 
an  outgrowing  spruce  bough,  he  moved  up 
to  that,  and  again  bent  low. 

"  Yesterday ;  'n'  late  in  the  afternoon  at  that," 
he  answered. 

And  it  was  fully  ten  miles  of  almost  impas- 
sable wilderness  —  that  is,  by  land  —  to  where 
they  had  encamped  the  night  before ! 

For  a  few  moments  Martin  looked  at  his 
guide,  and  then  at  those  tracks  in  silence. 

"It's  beyond  me,"  he  said  at  last;  and  the 
temptation  to  tell  the  doctor  all,  and  then 
return  to  where  they  had  camped  and  pursue 
this  strange  creature,  was  strong  upon  him. 

"  If  it's  a  sane  human  being,"  he  continued, 
"  he  would  have  made  himself  known  to  us 
last  night;  if  some  half-insane  old  hermit  or 
trapper,  even  then  I  think  he  would.  Even 
if  it  was  a  wild  man,  the  sight  of  us  and  our 
fire  would  also  have  drawn  some  cry  or  expres- 


4O  THE   HERMIT 

sion  of  human  kinship  from  him.  But  to  look 
at  us  in  grim  silence  from  out  the  darkness, 
and  then  steal  away  like  some  hunted  animal, 
was  —  uncanny." 

"  It  was  a  human  fast  enough,"  put  in  Levi, 
"  'n'  nothin'  else.  Bears  stand  up  once  in  a 
while,  but  run  on  four  legs.  The  only  other 
critter  that  don't  is  an  ape,  'n'  no  ape  was 
ever  known  in  these  woods." 

When  once  more  the  two  canoes  were  under 
way,  and  had  ascended  the  Moosehorn  a  few 
miles,  the  stream  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  a 
dismal  swamp  filled  with  dead  fir  trees.  They 
stood  out  above  the  green  undergrowth  like 
bleaching  skeletons,  with  here  and  there  a  lane 
of  black  waters  between  —  a  forest  Golgotha  of 
whitened  cones,  gaunt,  spectral,  and  ghostly. 
A  crow,  perched  upon  one,  cawed  ominously, 
and,  as  if  to  add  an  uncanny  touch  to  this 
forest  graveyard,  the  horizon,  now  opening 
wide,  had  grown  hazy,  and  the  lowering  sun 
red  as  blood.  None  but  a  woodsman  like 
Levi  could  thread  that  maze  of  lagoons  twist- 
ing and  turning  into  one  another,  and  when 
they  were  crossed,  and  the  canoes  once  more 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  THE  WILDERNESS        41 

entered  the  now  lessened  Moosehorn,  the  over- 
hanging spruce  and  fir  seemed  doubly  wel- 
come. A  mile  up,  the  banks  grew  bolder, 
with  now  and  then  a  frowning  cliff,  moss  cov- 
ered, over  which  the  spruce  roots  crept  down- 
wards, twisting  and  turning  like  arms  of 
gnomes.  Here  a  scattered  procession  of  foam- 
flecks  was  met,  and  soon  the  murmur  of  run- 
ning waters  broke  the  forest  stillness.  Low 
and  sweet  it  tinkled  like  tiny  bells  just  ahead, 
and  ever  elusive,  for  a  dozen  turns  in  the  wind- 
ing stream  were  rounded  ere  an  opening  in 
the  banks  showed  where  the  brook  entered. 
Its  mouth  was  broad  and  rippled,  and  out  of 
idle  curiosity,  Martin,  who  was  also  paddling, 
turned  the  prow  of  his  canoe  into  it  and  up 
a  little  way.  Only  a  couple  of  rods,  for  it 
soon  narrowed,  and  here,  scarcely  noticeable, 
and  only  to  the  trained  eyes  of  a  woodsman, 
were  the  faint  signs  of  a  path  leading  up  the 
bank.  Not  one  well  trod,  but  rather  a  divided 
path  where  some  one  had  pushed  the  thick 
growth  aside,  or  had  broken  branches  to 
reach  the  brook. 

Curious   still,    Martin   nodded   to    Levi,   and 


42  THE   HERMIT 

as  the  canoe  was  pushed  ashore,  both  stepped 
out  and  began  an  examination. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  ? "  questioned 
the  doctor,  who  had  come  up. 

"  Bear  tracks,"  answered  Martin,  reaching 
for  his  rifle,  and  following  Levi  up  the  stream, 
at  which  the  doctor  scrambled  hastily  ashore 
and  followed  them. 

The  faint  signs  soon  converged  into  a  dis- 
tinct path,  keeping  close  to  the  stream  for 
perhaps  two  hundred  rods,  then  turning  to 
the  right,  it  skirted  the  base  of  a  low  ledge 
until  it  reached  and  led  up  through  a  narrow 
pass.  Like  two  hounds  on  the  scent,  Levi 
and  Martin  had  followed  this,  ever  stooping 
and  watching  for  footprints,  with  the  doc- 
tor close  behind,  until  a  defile  was  reached, 
when  he  suddenly  exclaimed  :  — 

"  For  God's  sake,  Martin,  look  up ! " 

And  well  he  might,  for,  perched  upon  a 
projecting  shelf  of  rock  above  them,  white 
and  ghastly  in  the  forest  gloom,  was  the 
bleached  skull  of  an  enormous  moose. 

Such  a  relic  of  some  hunter's  prowess  is 
not  uncommon  in  the  wilderness,  and  ordi- 


THE   MYSTERY   OF  THE   WILDERNESS        43 

narily  would  excite  no  comment,  but  here  and 
now  it  seemed  to  Martin  a  grewsome  warn- 
ing, and,  in  some  mysterious  way,  connected 
with  the  creature  he  had  seen  the  night 
before. 

For  a  full  minute  he  was  spellbound  by 
that  object,  placed  where  it  was  with  evident 
and  sinister  intent,  then  he  turned  to  Levi. 
Not  a  word  was  uttered,  yet  in  that  long 
meeting  of  eyes,  one  and  the  same  question 
was  asked,  and  for  it  there  was  no  answer. 

And  standing  there,  face  to  face  with  the 
Great  Presence,  always  invisible  but  ever  exist- 
ent in  forest  solitudes,  with  only  the  low  prattle 
of  the  distant  brook  disturbing  the  utter  silence, 
almost  did  that  Something  conquer  and  turn 
them  back.  Almost,  I  say,  and  yet  that  does 
not  express  it,  for  so  delicate  is  the  division  be- 
tween courage  and  cowardice  in  us  all,  that  had 
there  come  to  them  at  this  moment  the  sound  of 
a  limb  creaking  in  the  breeze,  or  even  the  rustle 
of  leaves,  as  a  squirrel  hurried  away,  the  Pres- 
ence would  have  won. 

But  the  stillness,  so  profound  it  could  be  felt, 
was  unbroken,  and  soon  Martin,  gaining  cour- 


44  THE   HERMIT 

age,  moved  on  up  the  ridge,  followed  by  the 
rest.  And  now  stepping  slow  and  oft  halting  to 
listen,  he  soon  saw  an  opening  just  ahead,  and, 
looking  down  through  the  thick  growth,  they 
saw  a  tangled  confusion  of  fallen  trees,  perhaps 
thirty  rods  in  breadth,  and,  beyond  and  close  be- 
side a  wall-like  cliff,  a  small  log-cabin.  It  was 
dim  and  shadowy  down  in  this  narrow  vale,  for 
the  twilight  had  come,  and  as  Martin  pushed 
through  a  thicket  closing  the  path,  he  moved 
aside  a  small  sapling  barring  the  way,  and  at 
that  moment,  up  from  this  lone  and  lonely 
cabin,  faint  and  yet  distinct,  came  the  tinkle  of 
a  bell! 

In  an  instant  he  stepped  back,  and  as  this 
traplike  trigger  swung  into  place,  he  saw  it  was 
bound  to  a  small  sapling  with  a  thong  of  deer- 
skin, while  around  its  butt  was  wound  a  fine 
wire.  From  this,  and  barely  visible,  the  wire 
led  away  down  the  ledge  toward  the  cabin. 
Curious  now,  as  well  as  startled  by  this  queer 
human  contrivance,  Martin  once  more  moved 
the  swinging  stick  forward  to  hear  again  the 
answering  tinkle.  Twice,  thrice  he  repeated 
this,  his  eyes  on  the  cabin  below ;  and  then  he 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  THE  WILDERNESS        45 

saw  the  one  little  and  closed  window-slide  in  it 
open  halfway  for  an  instant,  and  then  close 
quickly.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  more  than  the 
motion  of  this  slide,  but  it  was  unmistakable. 
The  cabin  held  an  occupant. 

Ordinarily  Martin,  like  any  other  pleasure- 
seeker  in  the  wilderness,  would  have  descended 
to  this  cabin  and  made  a  friendly  call ;  but  the 
time,  place,  and  mystery,  as  well  as  evident 
threat  of  this  warning  signal,  were  enough. 
Without  a  word  he  stepped  quickly  back,  and 
so  potent  is  the  weakening  of  any  leader,  that 
the  doctor,  just  in  the  rear,  turned  on  the  in- 
stant and  ran  as  if  pursued.  And  it  must  be 
recorded  that  Martin  and  Levi  reached  the 
canoes  almost  as  soon.  Neither  was  any  dis- 
cussion indulged  in,  for  night  and  darkness  was 
near,  and  by  tacit  consent,  canoes  were  pushed 
off  and  all  tumbled  in,  the  doctor  and  Martin 
each  grasping  the  spare  paddles  and  using  them 
until  that  ill-omened  landing  was  left  a  full 
mile  astern. 


CHAPTER  V 

BESIDE   A   CAMP-FIRE 

IT  was  almost  dark  ere  a  possible  camping  site 
was  reached,  and  this  was  in  no  way  desirable, 
for  the  low  banks  of  the  Moosehorn  just  here 
were  soft  and  spongy,  while  from  every  twig  of 
the  tall  and  close-growing  spruces  depended 
long  tufts  of  gray  moss.  But  coming  night  in 
the  wilderness  forced  the  situation,  and  all  four 
set  about  establishing  a  camp. 

First  a  fire,  then  the  tent,  and  while  the  guides 
started  supper  on  its  way,  the  doctor  and  Martin 
cut  boughs  for  a  bed  and  then  stowed  their 
belongings.  And  right  in  the  midst  of  these 
duties,  and  just  as  the  fire  lit  up  the  spectral 
beards  that  hung  above  and  all  about  them,  Dr. 
Sol  found  the  broken  paddle  handle.  For  a 
moment  he  gazed  at  its  hideous  knob  with  some- 
thing like  terror,  and  then  turned  to  Martin. 

Now  all  that  day  the  doctor  had  felt  that 
46 


BESIDE   A   CAMP-FIRE  47 

some  uncanny  discovery,  some  new  and  near 
danger  had  been  kept  from  him;  and  more 
than  this,  that  some  mystery  quite  beyond 
human  ken  now  surrounded  them.  As  he 
would  put  it,  "What  I  saw,  I  know  I  saw,"  and 
none  of  Martin's  badinage  about  imaginary 
ogres  had  in  the  least  altered  his  fixed  convic- 
tions as  to  what  he  had  seen  the  night  before. 
Then  at  noon  he  had  also  observed  the  peculiar 
movements  of  both  his  friend  and  Levi,  but  said 
nothing;  and  when  they  had  landed  to  follow 
the  mysterious  path,  what  they  had  come  upon 
and  its  denouement  only  added  more  mystery. 
But  this  piratical  bit  of  handiwork  was  the  last 
straw,  and,  as  one  might  say,  it  broke  the 
doctor's  nerve. 

"  Martin  Frisbie,"  he  exclaimed  almost 
sternly,  "  where  are  we,  and  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this  ?  First  I  see  a  hideous 
human  face  watching  me,  which  you  swear 
is  a  rock ;  then  you  go  on  all  day,  looking 
and  listening  in  glum  silence,  while  I  follow, 
through  ghostly  swamps  and  up  unaccount- 
able by-paths,  to  face  grinning  skulls  and  find 
queer  things.  Then  you  run  away  as  if 


48  THE   HERMIT 

scared  yourself,  and  make  no  explanation  until 
now,  when  we  are  halted  by  night  where  no 
sane  human  being  can  be  comfortable.  Have 
you  gone  daft,  or  have  we  come  into  a  region 
haunted  by  hobgoblins  ?  Why,  even  the  trees 
have  ghostly  whiskers ;  and  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this  death's  head  staff  I  found  in  your 
canoe  ?  If  this  is  the  joyous  life  of  freedom 
in  the  wilderness  you  promised  me,  I  have 
had  enough  of  it !  I  want  to  go  home. 
Greenvale  may  be  dull  and  slow,  but  at  least 
it  isn't  haunted  by  ogres."  And  the  decidedly 
frightened  doctor  looked  at  the  grinning  knob 
once  more. 

"  Now  keep  cool,"  answered  Martin,  half 
inclined  to  laugh  in  spite  of  his  own  nervous- 
ness. "  In  the  main  you  are  right,  only  I've 
been  trying  to  save  you  from  getting  scared, 
which  would  spoil  your  outing.  You  did  see 
some  strange  creature  last  night,  for  I  saw 
it  myself  after  you  had  turned  in,  and  also  its 
tracks  where  you  met  it,  and  this  noon  again 
on  the  carry  where  I  found  that  bit  of  drift- 
wood. Whether  this  man  or  brute  —  and  I 
don't  know  which  —  had  any  connection  with 


BESIDE  A   CAMP-FIRE  49 

that  hid-away  log-cabin  or  not,  I  can't  say. 
I  shall  keep  no  more  from  you  and  shall  tell 
you  now  that  that  hut  was  occupied,  and  I'll 
admit  I  felt  it  best  to  retreat  in  good  order. 
We  have  come  upon  some  wilderness  mystery, 
though  not  a  ghostly  one,  and  yet  I  confess 
it  beyond  me.  In  fact,  I  think  we  have 
found  two,  for  the  creature  who  watched  us 
last  night  and  the  occupant  of  that  cabin  are 
not  the  same.  Another  point,  and  I'm  sure 
of  it,  —  the  hermit,  who  peeped  out  of  his  one 
sliding  window  a  moment  when  we  rang  his 
bell-trap,  doesn't  want  any  callers,  for  such  a 
contrivance  here,  a  hundred  miles  from  civiliza- 
tion, said  plainly,  '  If  you  don't  want  a  hole 
bored  in  you,  keep  away ! '  It  may  be  some 
escaped  criminal  in  hiding,  or  it  may  be  some 
half-insane  old  trapper  who  doesn't  want  visit- 
ors. We  are  not  here  on  a  man  hunt,  how- 
ever, and  if  we  mind  our  own  business,  I 
think  this  fellow  will  do  the  same,  and  to- 
morrow we  will  push  on."  Then,  as  an  after- 
thought, and  to  test  the  doctor's  courage,  he 
added :  "If  you  feel  curious,  or  as  a  matter 
of  medical  research  would  like  to  return  and 


50  THE   HERMIT 

visit  that  hermit  and  see  if  he  is  sane,  we 
will  go  back  with  you  in  the  morning.  We 
could  all  stay  out  of  sight  and  let  you  make 
the  call  alone,  so  as  not  to  excite  him." 

But  the  doctor  was  not  in  a  mood  to  ap- 
preciate Martin's  pleasantry,  and  only  glanced 
furtively  around  where  the  zone  of  light  ended 
among  the  spectral  trees  and  then  at  the 
cheerful  fire. 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  best  let  that  go  out 
when  supper  is  cooked  ? "  he  said ;  "  it  may  be 
seen  by  that  chap,  and  he  may  visit  us  again." 

But  another  and  not  at  all  pleasant  expe- 
rience was  to  follow,  for  before  the  potatoes 
were  boiled,  or  ham  and  eggs  quite  ready, 
the  wind  began  to  blow,  then  the  rain  that 
had  threatened  all  the  afternoon  followed,  and 
that  supper,  eaten  in  the  tent  and  by  the 
light  of  a  pine  knot,  was  not  all  that  could 
be  desired.  The  guides,  however,  kept  the 
fire  going,  while  Martin  and  the  doctor,  peep- 
ing out  of  the  tent,  smoked  and  discussed  the 
queer  mystery  they  had  come  upon.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  camp,  or  even  a  comfortable 
one,  for  the  wind,  roaring  in  the  dense  canopy 


BESIDE  A   CAMP-FIRE  5 1 

of  spruce  tops,  the  creaking  and  moaning  of 
the  tall  trees  bending  and  rubbing  together, 
added  a  peculiar  touch  to  their  somewhat 
ghostly  surroundings. 

But  nothing  more  occurred  to  disturb  them, 
and  when  morning  and  blue  sky  once  more 
returned,  never  before  in  his  life  had  the  clear 
light  of  day  seemed  so  great  a  blessing  to  Dr. 
Sol. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   STRANGE   PURSUER 

COVERING  two-thirds  of  Maine  and  a  por- 
tion of  Canada  and  New  Brunswick  is  a  wil- 
derness many  hundred  miles  in  length  and 
breadth.  It  is  divided  by  ranges  of  mountains, 
dotted  by  countless  lakes,  traversed  by  innu- 
merable streams,  some  running  north  into  the 
St.  Lawrence,  some  east  into  the  bay  of 
Chaleur,  and  some  south  into  the  Atlantic. 
These  serve  as,  and  are,  the  only  highways. 
Sportsmen  enter  this  wilderness  a  little  way, 
rarely  does  one  cross  it ;  lumbermen  follow  up 
its  streams  to  cut  their  quota  of  logs  and  return 
the  same  way ;  and  yet  so  broad  is  it,  and  so 
impassable  by  direct  journey,  that  events  hap- 
pening on  one  side  are  rarely  known  on  the 
other.  It  is  a  world  by  itself,  as  it  were, 
scarcely  surveyed,  with  townships  of  primal 
wilderness  seldom  crossed,  lakes  that  for  years 
52 


A   STRANGE   PURSUER  53 

remain  unvisited,  and  mountains  that  are  rarely 
scaled. 

It  was  the  bold  intention  of  Martin  and  the 
doctor  to  cross  this  for  an  outing  trip ;  and 
now,  scared  for  a  day  and  a  night  by  the  visit 
of  a  queer  creature,  they  had  gone  on,  leaving 
its  locality  many  days'  journey  behind,  and  yet 
vividly  retaining  the  impress  it  made. 

A  bugaboo  is  like  your  shadow,  and  a 
mystery  unsolved  will  follow  as  well,  more 
especially  in  a  vast  wilderness,  and  although 
Martin,  out  of  consideration  for  his  timid  friend, 
had  turned  away  from  this,  somehow  it  still 
seemed  that  sooner  or  later  it  would  make 
itself  manifest  again ;  and  whether  floating 
down  or  slowly  ascending  streams  each  day, 
he  watched  ever  for  some  sight  or  sound  of 
this  creature  in  the  bordering  forest.  He  never 
landed  on  a  stream's  bank  or  lake's  shore  but 
he  looked  for  those  uncanny  tracks,  and  at 
night  when  smoking  by  the  camp-fire  and 
chatting  with  the  doctor,  he  watched  ever 
where  the  circle  of  light  merged  into  the  dark- 
ness, half  expecting  to  see  that  strange  face 
glaring  at  him  once  more.  If  such  was  the 


54  THE   HERMIT 

effect  on  Martin,  that   upon  the  doctor   could 
not  fail  to  be  far  more  powerful. 

For  two  weeks  they  had  journeyed  onward, 
up-stream,  down-stream,  and  across  lake  and 
carry,  halting  to  try  for  trout  in  seductive  pools 
or  land  at  some  available  spot  and  cook  a 
midday  meal.  Deer  browsing  upon  the  first 
green  shoots  had  been  surprised  many  times ; 
twice  they  had  come  upon  a  lordly  moose,  to 
hear  it  snort  with  affright  and  plunge  out  of 
sight  in  the  undergrowth.  Once  a  bear  had 
been  seen  scampering  up  an  old  log  road,  and 
often  at  night  had  they  heard  a  lucivee  or 
panther  uttering  its  peculiar  cry  in  some 
neighboring  swamp.  Of  humanity,  they  had 
met  not  a  soul  in  all  that  time ;  and  now,  some- 
what wearied  of  ever  continued  pushing  on, 
they  had  camped  on  the  shore  of  a  long  and 
narrow  lake  to  remain  and  rest  a  few  days. 
This,  known  as  the  Second  Musquacook,  lay 
at  the  apex  of  two  narrow  valleys,  through 
each  of  which  flowed  sizable  streams.  One, 
the  larger,  had  served  as  their  waterway  to 
this  lake,  and  entered  at  its  foot  the  other 
midway.  It  was  near  this,  and  in  a  cove 


A  STRANGE  PURSUER  55 

outlined  by  a  pretty  sandy  beach,  that  their 
tent  was  pitched.  Above  this  stream,  and  ex- 
tending well  out  into  the  shallow  lake,  grew  a 
bed  of  rushes,  now  putting  forth  fresh  shoots. 
This  growth  also  extended  up  the  stream  a 
few  rods,  while  next  to  the  cove  its  bank  was 
wooded,  and  where  it  joined  the  lake  a  rounded 
gravelled  point  put  out.  The  sun  was  out 
of  sight  behind  one  of  the  low  ranges  of 
mountains  that  shut  them  in,  ere  the  camp 
was  made  comfortable,  and  just  as  Levi  had 
finished  his  watchful  care  of  a  frying-pan  of 
trout  and  another  of  sputtering  ham,  and 
lifted  the  coffee-pot  from  the  bending  wam- 
beck,1  the  moon,  now  almost  full,  looked  over 
the  opposite  range. 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  doctor,  who  had  seated 
himself  by  the  little  improvised  table  of  sap- 
lings, and  heaped  his  tin  plate  with  good  things, 
"  that  we  had  stayed  a  few  days  longer  on  the 
Moosehorn  and  tried  to  run  that  wild  man  to 
cover." 

1  The  Indian  name  for  a  small  sapling  thrust  into  the  ground 
and  sloping  over  a  camp-fire,  and  upon  which  a  pail  or  pot  is 
hung. 


56  THE   HERMIT 

Like  many  another  man,  Dr.  Sol  was  always 
courageous  when  either  well  fed  or  about  to  be. 

"  We  might  go  back  there,"  answered  Martin, 
with  his  mouth  full  of  fried  trout,  while  he 
gently  stirred  the  condensed  milk  in  his  tin  cup 
of  coffee;  "it  isn't  over  a  hundred  miles." 

"  No-o-o,"  responded  the  doctor,  slowly,  "  I 
don't  believe  we'd  better;  and  yet,  I'd  go  a 
good  many  miles  to  find  out  what  that  thing 
was." 

Then  Martin  laughed,  knowing  full  well  how 
little  courage  Dr.  Sol  had. 

Time  and  again  they  had  discussed  this 
strange  problem  in  all  its  bearings,  failing  each 
time  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion.  Then,  there 
were  "two  of  him,"  as  Jean  once  said,  and 
about  equal  in  mystery. 

"  I,  too,  wish  we  had  stayed  where  I  saw  this 
creature,"  said  Martin,  in  response  to  the 
doctor's  assertion,  "  at  least  for  one  night.  If 
it  was  some  half-insane  old  trapper  who  wore 
moccasins  tipped  with  panther's  claws,  as  I 
more  than  half  suspect,  the  latent  human  curios- 
ity in  such  a  freak  would  have  led  him  to  return 
the  next  night.  There  was  no  danger,  for  if  he 


A   STRANGE   PURSUER  57 

had  meant  harm,  he  had  ample  chance.  As  to 
its  being  a  nondescript,  half  man,  half  brute,  as 
his  tracks  would  indicate,  I  do  not  for  one 
moment  believe.  Neither  do  I  think  he  had 
any  connection  with  the  chap  who  has  hid  him- 
self in  the  lone  log-cabin  up  the  Moosehorn, 
and  who  rigged  a  trap-bell  signal  to  warn  him 
of  visitors.  He  is  a  cat  of  another  stripe,  and 
one  I'd  not  care  to  disturb.  What  do  you  say, 
Levi?" 

"  I  dunno,  I  dunno,"  replied  that  cautious 
woodsman,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  "  'cordin' 
to  my  way  o'  thinkin',  it's  the  same  feller,  ez 
I've  said  afore  now,  an'  mebbe  some  one  ez  had 
cause  fer  hidin'.  There's  a  good  many  curis 
things  ez  happens  in  the  woods,  'n'  some  on  'em 
never  gits  found  out.  I  was  up  on  the  St. 
Francis  loggin'  'bout  ten  years  ago,  'n'  thar  was 
a  feller  in  the  camp  that  was  took  that  sick  he 
was  like  to  die.  It  was  over  forty  miles  to  a 
settlement  by  the  tote-road,  'n'  about  twenty 
cross  country.  The  snow  was  good  'n'  hard  for 
snow-shoein',  'n'  ez  I  knew  thar  was  a  couple  o' 
trappers  winterin'  on  a  lake  that  way,  whar  I 
could  put  up,  I  went  the  shortest  cut.  'Twas 


58  THE   HERMIT 

most  dark  'fore  I  struck  the  lake,  V  then  I  had 
to  go  two-thirds  round,  followin'  the  shore,  'fore 
I  found  the  camp,  'n'  when  I  did,  'twas  pitch 
dark  'n'  nobody  in  the  cabin.  All  I  had  with  me 
was  a  little  pack  'n'  a  blanket,  'n'  stay  there  I'd 
got  to.  I  pushed  the  door  open,  slung  my  pack 
in  'n'  then  felt  round  'n'  found  a  birch  'n'  peeled 
some  bark,  'n'  went  in  again  'n'  struck  a  light,  'n' 
then  looked  round.  I've  been  sot  back  a  good 
many  times,  first  'n'  last,  but  never  quite  so  much 
ez  that  minute,  fer  right  under  my  feet,  almost, 
lay  a  dead  man !  The  snow  hed  blowed  in  'n' 
covered  his  legs,  but  his  arms  'n'  body  wa'n't,  'n' 
his  face  was  lookin'  right  up  at  me  'n'  his  eyes 
wide  open.  Fer  a  minute  I  come  near  turnin' 
tail,  'n'  then  I  kinder  ketched  myself  'n'  'lowed 
he  couldn't  hurt  me,  'n'  I'd  got  to  stay  there  any- 
way. Then  I  got  a  fire  goin'  'n'  pulled  him  up 
in  one  corner  'n'  covered  him.  I  couldn't  make 
out  to  sleep  a  wink  that  night,  though,  'n'  didn't 
try  to.  All  I  did  was  keep  the  fire  goin',  'n'  I 
never  knew  afore  that  night  how  much  com- 
pany thar  was  in  a  fire.  I  kept  on  next  day,  'n' 
when  I  went  back  to  the  lumberin'  camp,  I 
went  the  long  way." 


A   STRANGE   PURSUER  59 

"  And  did  you  find  out  who  it  was,"  put  in 
the  doctor,  eagerly,  "  and  who  killed  him  ?  " 

"  I  dunno  ez  anybody  killed  him.  The  next 
Sunday,  though,  three  on  us  started  early  V 
went  over  thar,  'n'  the  curis  thing  was  we  didn't 
find  no  dead  man.  It  had  snowed  some,  'n'  thar 
wa'n't  no  tracks  outside,  either,  'n'  then  they 
made  great  sport  o'  me  'n'  said  I  must  'a'  gone 
daft." 

"  And  was  that  all,"  inquired  the  doctor, 
who  had  never  once  ceased  watching  Levi's 
face ;  "  didn't  you  ever  find  out  anything 
more  ? " 

"  Not  a  word,  though  I  did  some  askin'  when 
I  got  down  to  the  settlement  that  spring.  It 
ain't  strange,  though,  fer  thar's  a  good  many 
trappers  ez  goes  into  the  woods  'n'  never  comes 
out,  'n'  'less  they've  got  families,  nobody  wonders 
at  it.  Then  agin,  I  wa'n't  goin'  to  'low  I'd  seen 
a  dead  man,  fer  if  thar  'd  been  murder  done,  no 
tellin'  but  I  might  'a'  got  into  trouble  'n'  cused 
on  V 

"  And  you  think  this  chap  who  put  a  moose 
skull  where  it  would  do  the  most  good  might 
have  been  some  murderer  in  hiding,"  queried 


60  THE   HERMIT 

Martin,  "  or  possibly  the  other  one  of  those  two 
trappers  ? " 

"  Wai,  he  might  'n'  he  mightn't,"  answered 
Levi,  in  his  always  cautious  tone.  "  That  was 
ten  years  ago,  n'  ten  years  is  a  long  time  for 
a  man  to  live  alone  in  the  woods  'n'  not  go 
daft  if  he's  cause  to  worry.  If  he  ain't,  he 
might  live  here  forty  'n'  keep  fat." 

Then,  as  this  subject  was  about  exhausted 
for  the  time,  Martin  and  the  doctor  once  more 
fell  to  recalling  incidents  of  their  boyhood 
days,  and  all  the  fun  they  had,  and  all  the 
scrapes  they  got  into  then. 

And  as  once  before,  when  the  evening's 
smoke  and  chat  ended,  the  camp-fire  low,  and 
Martin  had  stretched  himself  on  the  bough 
bed  beside  the  doctor,  his  thoughts  travelled 
to  Greenvale,  and  he  wondered  how  Angie 
looked  and  what  she  would  say,  and  how  she 
would  treat  him  if  he  were  to  go  back  there 
again. 

Beyond  that  lurked  a  little  sense  of  guilt 
at  the  thought  of  all  the  years  that  had  fled 
since  he  parted  from  her  in  such  a  tender 
fashion,  and  how  heartless  it  was,  after  all! 


A   STRANGE   PURSUER  6 1 

Then  he  wondered  why  she  had  never  mar- 
ried. She  was  a  comely  girl,  and  once  he 
thought  her  more  than  that  —  yes,  even  the 
sweetest  and  most  beautiful  maid  in  Greenvale. 

Why  was  it  some  other  village  swain  had 
not  caught  her  fancy,  after  his  desertion  ? 

He  knew  she  was  an  orphan,  whose  mother 
had  died  when  she  was  quite  young,  and  worse 
than  that,  her  father  had  disappeared,  no  one 
knew  why,  nor  whither,  and  that  Angie  had 
been  left  without  an  heritage,  to  be  brought  up 
by  Aunt  Comfort  It  was  a  peculiar  case ; 
and  now,  as  it  all  came  back  to  him,  and  how, 
in  her  sweet,  girlish  way,  she  had  laid  her 
heart  at  his  feet,  so  to  speak,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  one  so  fond,  and  so  wholly  dependent, 
was  the  last  whom  a  manly  young  fellow 
should  turn  from  and  desert. 

It  was  the  bud  of  a  boyish  love  bursting 
into  flower  again,  for  before  Martin  fell  asleep, 
he  had  firmly  resolved  he  would  visit  Green- 
vale  at  an  early  date  and  see  how  Angie 
would  receive  him. 

But  the  next  morning  all  these  sweet  im- 
pulses received  a  quietus,  for  while  Levi  and 


62  THE   HERMIT 

Jean  were  getting  breakfast,  Martin  and  the 
doctor  took  their  rods  and  started  for  the 
stream  close  by;  halfway  there  Martin  halted 
suddenly,  looking  down. 

And  well  he  might,  for  at  his  feet  and  freshly 
made  in  the  hard,  damp  sand,  were  those  same 
claw-print  tracks  he  had  twice  found  on  the 
Moosehorn,  a  hundred  miles  away  ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

GHOST   OR   WILD    MAN? 

MARTIN  looked  long  at  those  grotesque  foot- 
prints in  speechless  wonder.  For  two  weeks 
now  he  had  watched  for  them  in  old  log  roads, 
along  the  banks  of  streams,  in  the  muddy 
spots  of  carries,  and  upon  the  sandy  shores 
of  lakes,  in  vain.  He  had  found  all  other 
kinds  of  tracks  in  plenty,  hoof  prints  of  moose, 
deer,  and  caribou,  the  oval  ones  of  bear,  and 
the  rounder  but  sharper  clawed  tracks  of  lynx 
and  wildcat — but  none  like  these.  And  now, 
on  a  bright  moonlight  night,  the  nondescript 
creature  had  walked  up  to  within  two  rods  of 
where  he  lay  sleeping ! 

The  effect  on  Dr.  Sol  was  almost  ludicrous. 
He  gazed  at  them,  grew  pale,  and  with  a 
"We've  got  to  get  out  of  here,  and  quick, 
too,"  started  for  the  tent. 

"  Here  he  comes ;  run,  doctor,  run,"  shouted 
63 


64  THE   HERMIT 

Martin,  his  sense  of  humor  rising  above  his 
astonishment,  as  he  followed  the  doctor,  who 
had  covered  the  distance  with  leaps.  Then 
each,  grasping  a  rifle,  and  followed  by  the 
guides,  returned  to  those  tracks.  And  now 
for  the  first  time,  so  plainly  outlined  were  they 
in  the  deep  sand,  it  was  possible  to  better 
guess  what  manner  of  creature  made  them. 

"  It's  a  gigantic  ape,"  asserted  Martin,  bend- 
ing over  them ;  but  Levi,  kneeling,  shook  his 
head. 

"  It's  some  one  wearin'  moccasins  with  claws 
on  'em.  I  kin  see  whar  the  seam  comes,"  he 
said. 

It  was  not  reassuring,  and  both  Martin  and 
the  doctor  glanced  furtively  into  the  forest 
near  at  hand,  and  then  up  to  the  gravelled 
point  where  the  stream  entered.  Then  follow- 
ing Levi  and  avoiding  the  tracks,  halting  often 
to  listen  and  look  at  one  more  distinct  than  the 
rest,  they  came  to  this  point  and  the  end  of  the 
tracks.  Here  a  faint  furrow  showed  where 
a  canoe  had  grounded  and  been  lifted  out  on 
the  beach. 

"  It's  a  white  man,"  asserted  Levi,  in  a  posi- 


GHOST  OR  WILD   MAN?  65 

tive  tone;  "an  Injun  always  lands  a  canoe 
sideways." 

"And  why?"  queried  Martin,  to  whom  this 
was  news. 

"  'Cause  it  don't  strain  'em  so  much,  an' 
leaves  no  sign." 

"This  chap  wasn't  fussy  about  the  signs," 
interjected  the  doctor,  "and  if  it's  the  beast 
I  saw  that  night  on  the  Moosehorn,  I've  had 
enough  of  his  society." 

"The  tracks  are  the  same  beyond  question," 
said  Martin,  "  and  it  looks  like  a  case  of  follow, 
but  how  he  has  kept  along  with  us  for  ten  days 
without  discovery  is  curious."  And  the  thought 
of  such  a  savage  man  stealthily  following  one 
up-stream,  down-stream,  across  lake  and  carry 
a  good  hundred  miles  of  wilderness,  made  Mar- 
tin nervous.  "  I'm  not  going  to  back  out  just 
yet,"  he  added,  as  they  retraced  their  steps  to 
find  the  fire  out  and  breakfast  ruined.  But 
that  mattered  not ;  in  fact  nothing  was  thought 
of  or  spoken  about  all  that  day  except  those 
hideous  tracks  and  the  likelihood  that  their 
maker  might  be  lurking  in  the  forest  about. 
No  attention  was  paid  to  the  lake,  rippled  and 


66  THE   HERMIT 

shining  in  the  sunlight,  the  birds,  piping  de- 
fiance to  all  powers  of  darkness,  or  aught  else 
of  beauty.  Both  canoes  made  an  entire  detour 
of  that  lake's  shore  at  least  three  times,  while 
their  occupants,  oblivious  even  of  the  trout 
leaping  out  here  and  there,  scanned  the  shad- 
ows, pausing  oft  to  listen  at  every  trifling 
sound.  The  entrances  to  two  long,  unused  log 
roads  were  examined,  the  stream  where  they 
first  entered  the  lake  followed  back  a  mile, 
and  the  one  where  the  tracks  began  and  ended 
explored  a  little  way,  but  no  sign  or  sound  of 
this  wild  man  found.  Like  a  thief  at  night 
he  had  come  ashore,  stolen  up  to  their  camp, 
returned,  embarked,  and  where  he  was  hiding 
no  man  could  guess. 

When  nightfall  drew  near,  the  doctor  became 
nervous.  "  I  shan't  sleep  a  wink  to-night,"  he 
said  plaintively,  as  he  watched  Levi  building 
a  fire,  and  as  the  woods  grew  shadowy  and 
darker,  he  kept  close  to  the  fire.  Not  for  un- 
told wealth  would  he  have  walked  into  that 
sombre,  silent  forest  one-half  mile  alone  —  no, 
not  even  fifty  rods. 

Jean  also  was  as  scared  as  the  doctor.     Like 


GHOST  OR   WILD   MAN?  6/ 

many  of  the  half-breed  guides  who  lead  sports- 
men into  this  wilderness,  he  believed  most  wild 
animals  to  be  endowed  with  human  cunning  and 
devilish  malice  as  well;  that  they  might  imi- 
tate human  actions,  and  certainly  could  hear 
and  understand  human  converse.  He  was  posi- 
tive bears  could  walk  upright  for  miles  and 
panthers  cross  lakes  on  logs,  using  sticks  for 
paddles.  He  was  certain  that  this  wild  man  who 
had  followed  them  was  a  combination  of  man 
and  beast,  a  huge,  hairy  ape  maybe,  or  a  mix- 
ture of  bear,  panther,  and  man.  Moreover,  he 
believed  in  ghosts. 

The  piratical  paddle  handle  found  by  Martin, 
the  moose  skull  perched  on  the  ledge,  the 
night  cries  of  loons  on  the  lakes  or  wildcats  in 
swamps,  were  all  evidence  of  ghost  existence 
and  meant  for  death  warnings,  and  when  he 
heard  them,  he  invariably  crossed  himself. 

Under  other  circumstances  this  superstition 
would  have  been  ludicrous,  even  to  the  doctor ; 
now  it  added  to  the  mystery. 

Even  Martin  and  Levi,  both  old  experienced 
woodsmen,  caught  a  little  of  this  uncanny,  eerie 
contagion,  and  when  supper  was  over,  pipes  lit, 


68  THE  HERMIT 

and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  converse  in 
low  tones  and  listen  to  the  night  sounds,  their 
rugged  common  sense  grew  a  little  shaky.  It 
became  more  so  when  the  moon  rose,  filling  the 
forest  with  rifts  of  spectral  light  and  throwing 
ghostly  shadows  over  the  lake  shore. 

"  You  might  ez  well  turn  in,"  said  Levi,  when 
the  hour  had  grown  late,  "  me  'n'  Jean  '11  take 
turns  keepin'  the  fire  goin',''  and  this  tacit  ad- 
mission of  the  need  of  watching  was  not  reas- 
suring to  the  doctor  at  least.  But  Martin  had 
grown  sleepy  in  spite  of  the  mystery  surround- 
ing them,  and  led  the  way  into  the  tent. 

It  might  have  been  midnight  or  later  — 
neither  Martin  nor  the  doctor  thought  of  time 
that  night  —  when  they  were  awakened  by 
Levi,  who,  without  a  word,  beckoned  them  to 
arise.  Then  silently,  wrapped  in  blankets,  they 
followed  him  to  the  shore. 

The  moon  was  high  overhead,  the  lake  a 
sheet  of  burnished  silver,  the  dark  wilderness 
silent  as  a  tomb,  and  as  the  little  group  looked 
up  toward  the  head  of  the  lake,  there,  close 
to  shore  and  slowly  moving  toward  them,  was 
a  dark  object. 


GHOST  OR  WILD   MAN?  69 

Between  them  and  this  object  grew  the  bed 
of  reeds,  and  as  it  advanced,  almost  at  a  snail's 
pace,  it  enlarged  into  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  a  man,  apparently  wading  waist  deep  in  the 
water.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  drew,  while  the 
breathless  four  watched  it  —  now  to  the  edge 
of  the  reeds,  then  entering  them  it  almost 
vanished,  to  emerge  and  become  distinctly  of 
human  shape,  and  without  doubt  a  man  astride 
a  log  or  seated  in  a  narrow  canoe  but  few 
inches  out  of  the  water.  Slowly,  very  slowly, 
he  drew  nearer,  until  where  the  stream  entered 
the  lake,  he  turned  into  it,  and  passed  out  of 
sight. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  there  was  no  more 
sleep  in  the  camp  that  night,  but  reclining 
about  the  friendly  fire,  the  four  men  watched, 
listened  oft,  speaking  only  in  whispers,  until 
the  moon  sank  into  the  sombre  wilderness  and 
the  gray  light  of  morn  banished  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  HERMIT'S  HOME 

SUPERSTITION  is  a  mushroom,  growing  best 
in  shadow,  and  the  four,  who  at  first  believed 
they  had  come  upon  a  wild  man,  and  later 
that  he  had  followed  them  for  ten  days,  were 
now  divided,  or  rather  graded,  in  conviction. 
Jean  was  sure  it  was  a  ghost,  Levi  divided 
between  spook  and  wild  man,  the  doctor  posi- 
tive it  was  the  latter,  and  Martin  still  in 
doubt.  To  be  followed  was  disturbing ;  the 
bold  night  visit  to  their  camp  while  they  were 
asleep  was  significant ;  and  now  a  creature, 
be  it  Indian,  wild  man,  or  hunter,  who  jour- 
neyed by  night  and  crossed  lakes  when  he 
should  be  asleep,  was  more  than  merely  curious 
of  conduct.  This  mystery  had  piqued  Martin 
at  first,  now  it  exasperated ;  and  though  un- 
certain what  to  do  or  which  way  to  turn  to 
solve  it,  he  had  no  thought  of  being  driven 
70 


THE   HERMIT'S   HOME  Jl 

out  of  the  woods,  or  even  turning  aside.  He 
had  planned  to  remain  here  on  this  beautiful 
lake  a  few  days,  and  now  that  this  mysterious 
night  prowler  was  there  also,  he  resolved  to 
stand  his  ground  and  hunt  him  out  if  possible. 
The  creature  had  apparently  gone  up  the  tribu- 
tary stream  —  why  not  follow  him  ? 

But  Dr.  Sol  thought  otherwise. 

"  I've  had  enough  of  him,"  was  his  positive 
response  when  Martin  proposed  they  ascend 
this  stream  on  a  searching  trip,  "  and  some 
to  spare.  I  dare  not  set  foot  in  the  woods 
alone ;  he  drives  me  away  from  fishing,  and  I 
can't  sleep  nights.  I  don't  see  the  good  of 
chasing  a  bloodthirsty  savage  who  decorates 
his  feet  with  panther's  claws,  and  who  may 
want  our  scalps.  I've  a  notion  he'd  try  for 
one  if  he  caught  one  of  us  alone." 

Then  Martin  laughed. 

"Well,  we'll  keep  together,"  he  said,  "and, 
for  that  matter,  four  men  with  two  rifles  need 
not  fear  even  a  wild  man."' 

"Would  you  shoot  him  if  you  got  the 
chance  ? "  returned  the  doctor,  feeling  he  had 
the  better  of  the  argument. 


72  THE   HERMIT 

"  Why,  yes,  in  self-defence,  of  course,  not 
otherwise." 

Martin,  as  leader  of  the  trip,  naturally  carried 
his  point,  but  when  the  canoes  were  loaded  and 
they  started  up  this  stream,  it  was  noticeable 
that  the  doctor  and  Jean,  in  their  craft,  kept 
close  to  Martin,  and  not  once  during  all  that 
day's  journey  did  they  drop  two  rods  astern. 

For  the  first  few  miles  the  stream  wound, 
black  and  without  current,  beneath  a  canopy 
of  firs,  the  low  banks  completely  hid  by  under- 
growth. Now  and  then  a  mink  or  muskrat 
was  seen  crossing  just  ahead,  and  once  an 
otter,  surprised  on  a  half-submerged  log,  dived 
in  with  a  splash  that  sounded  unduly  loud. 
Then  a  wide  stretch  of  impassable  swamp  was 
entered,  with  here  and  there  a  dead  spruce 
rising  tall  and  spectral;  beyond  this  the  valley 
narrowed  and  banks  grew  high  and  rock- 
walled.  Here,  too,  the  stream  showed  the 
first  sign  of  current,  and  the  low  murmur  of 
an  occasional,  though  invisible  rill,  gave  some 
relief. 

And  here  it  must  be  stated  that  in  all  the 
wide  world  there  is  no  sound  so  sweet  as 


THE   HERMIT'S   HOME  73 

the  music  of  a  brooklet  heard  in  the  sombre 
silence  of  a  wilderness.  A  bobolink  circling 
over  a  meadow  utters  a  note  of  wondrous 
sweetness,  but  not  to  compare  with  the  melo- 
dious tinkle  of  a  faint,  forest-hidden  rill. 

To  Martin  and  the  doctor  it  gave  keen 
pleasure,  for  the  unbroken  silence  of  forest 
solitudes,  endured  for  hours,  becomes  oppres- 
sive. Up  to  this  time,  also,  no  sign  of  what 
they  were  in  quest  of  had  been  found  —  no 
queer  tracks  on  muddy  banks,  no  broken  twigs 
or  leaves  floating  down,  no  sounds  of  ill  omen, 
or  aught  else  of  suspicious  nature.  And  when 
noon  came,  and  they  landed  to  crawl  up  on 
a  high  bank  and  cook  dinner,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  doctor's  theory  of  a  wild-goose  chase  was 
likely  to  prove  correct.  But  now  a  clew  came 
to  them,  though  one  that  never  would  have 
been  noticed  except  by  a  woodsman  of  Levi's 
keenness.  He  had  gone  a  little  higher  up  on 
the  bank  to  break  dry  twigs  from  the  trunk  of 
a  fir  tree,  when  suddenly  he  paused,  elevated 
his  nose,  and  sniffed. 

"I  smell  smoke,"  he  said,  "'n'  birch-bark 
smoke,  too." 


74  THE   HERMIT 

The  next  moment  he  started  to  climb  the 
tree  and  halted  not  until  well  up  toward  the 
top. 

"Thar's  an  opening,  'n'  a  little  lake  ahead," 
he  added,  returning  to  earth. 

The  information  was  a  trifle,  but  it  was  some- 
thing of  value,  and  when  the  hastily  cooked  meal 
was  eaten,  they  pushed  on,  and  now  the  stream, 
which  had  grown  smaller,  seemed  likely  to  lose 
itself  in  another  swamp.  It  was  now  a  mere 
network  of  narrow  leads  without  current,  twist- 
ing among  bogs  of  dry  sedge  and  half  hidden' 
beneath  alders.  First  one  was  tried,  then  an- 
other, and  even  Levi  was  getting  discouraged, 
when  an  opening  showed  ahead  in  the  tangle, 
and  soon  they  emerged  into  a  placid  little  lake. 

It  was  scarce  a  half  mile  in  diameter,  nearly 
round,  and  swamp  bordered  for  three-quarters 
of  its  circumference.  To  the  right  of  where 
they  entered,  and  on  its  north  side,  the  shore 
was  high  and  thickly  grown  with  spruce,  and 
here  also  was  a  bit  of  sandy  beach.  Without  a 
word  of  comment,  Levi  turned  his  canoe  toward 
this,  and  side  by  side  the  two  little  craft  drew 
near,  to  halt  suddenly  when  within  a  few  rods, 


THE   HERMIT'S   HOME  75 

for  there  on  the  bank  and  beside  a  narrow  path 
lay  a  birch  canoe,  bottom  up ! 

And  well  they  might  halt  to  see  that  tangible 
evidence  of  human  existence,  so  far  from  civil- 
ization and  so  absolutely  hid  in  the  wilderness. 

Then  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  while 
both  canoes,  as  if  sharing  their  feelings,  drew 
close  together.  The  doctor  was  first  to  speak. 

"  Can  it  be  he  ? "  he  whispered.  Martin 
shook  his  head,  looking  and  listening.  The 
question  now  was  not  so  much  whether  "  he  " 
was  lurking  in  the  thicket  back  of  the  canoe, 
as  how  he  would  be  apt  to  receive  callers. 

The  canoe  looked  harmless  —  an  old-fash- 
ioned one  of  birch  bark  and  not  the  later  kind 
made  of  canvas.  It  was  long,  narrow,  and 
shallow,  patched  in  many  places  and  must  have 
had  many  years  of  service. 

We  hesitate  about  landing  on  unknown 
shores,  and  Martin  now  experienced  this  feel- 
ing; but  at  last  he  motioned  to  Levi,  and  as 
his  canoe  grounded  on  the  sandy  beach,  Mar- 
tin stepped  out  with  rifle  in  hand  and  led  the 
way  up  the  narrow  path.  And  very  slowly 
those  four,  in  single  file,  advanced.  The  path 


76  THE   HERMIT 

wound  around,  ascending  a  low  hill,  thick  grown 
with  spruce  at  its  base,  then  white  birch  on  top, 
and  beyond  those  soon  appeared  an  opening, 
and  facing  it  a  log-cabin  half  hidden  under 
green  vines.  A  smaller  one  stood  back  of  it. 
The  opening  bristled  with  blackened  stumps, 
a  fence  of  birch  stakes  driven  into  the  earth 
and  bound  with  bark  withes,  surrounded  cabins 
and  cleared  space,  and  in  this  rude  garden  spot 
potatoes,  beans,  and  corn,  were  just  growing 
green.  No  occupant  of  the  cabin  was  visible, 
its  door  was  closed,  and  as  the  now  astonished 
party  drew  near,  a  dozen  or  more  red  squirrels 
were  observed,  perched  on  the  cabin  or  frisking 
about  it,  scolding  and  chattering.  One  bolder 
than  the  rest  advanced  to  meet  the  visitors 
with  evident  delight.  It  was  such  a  peaceful 
scene,  and  the  squirrels  added  such  a  touch  of 
nature  to  the  wild-wood  home,  all  fear  of  grizzly 
faced  wild  men  vanished.  If  this  was  the  lair 
of  one,  he  certainly  must  be  poetic  of  nature 
and  therefore  harmless. 

Martin  knocked  on  the  door,  but  received  no 
response,  then  lifted  the  latch,  opened  it  a  little 
way  and  glanced  in.  The  interior  was  neat,  and 


THE   HERMIT'S   HOME  77 

odorous  with  fir  boughs,  a  few  dishes  were 
piled  on  a  shelf-like  table,  two  stools  of  split 
slabs  stood  near  a  small  stove  in  one  corner, 
and  on  the  bunk  lay  the  skins  of  two  lucivees 
and  a  deer,  while  others  hung  from  the  log 
walls.  A  few  steel  traps  also  hung  from 
chains,  and  as  if  to  add  a  welcome  to  the  now 
surprised  callers,  while  they  looked,  a  squirrel 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  one  little  window, 
now  open,  sat  upright  and  began  to  chatter. 

A  faint  smell  of  smoke,  mingling  with  the 
balsam  odor,  showed  the  cabin  to  have  been  re- 
cently occupied.  On  a  bench  outside  the  door 
lay  a  short  broom  made  of  twigs.  The  smaller 
cabin  contained  wood  cut  and  split  and  a  pile  of 
chips  in  front  —  all  bespoke  this  lone  hut  to  be 
a  human  habitation. 

But  where  was  its  owner,  and  what  manner 
of  man  must  he  be,  content  to  live  thus  buried 
in  this  wilderness  ? 

Then  the  four  men,  like  children,  began  a 
tour  of  investigation,  and  every  trifle  held  inter- 
est. An  axe  that  sadly  needed  grinding,  with  a 
helve  of  white  birch,  a  pail  deftly  fashioned  out 
of  birch  bark,  a  hoe  that  hung  from  a  cranny  be- 


/8  THE   HERMIT 

tween  the  logs,  and  even  the  vines  climbing  the 
log  walls  and  growing  green  over  the  pole  and 
bark-thatched  roof,  were  examined.  In  one 
corner  of  the  garden  a  long,  narrow  bed  was 
green  with  plants  that  might  bear  flowers  later, 
a  row  of  bending  and  broken-down  stalks  along 
the  fence,  with  broad  heads  picked  clean  of 
seeds,  showed  where  sunflowers  had  grown  the 
previous  year,  and  as  all  this  domestic  and 
home-making  evidence  was  noted,  it  seemed 
more  and  more  certain  that  the  wearer  of 
moccasins,  with  panther's  claws,  was  not  the 
occupant  of  this  wild-wood  home. 

But  who  was  he  ? 

And  as  if  in  answer  to  this  query,  and  just  as 
the  visitors  were  grouped  in  front  of  the  hut, 
an  old  man,  tall,  gaunt,  with  tangled  white  hair 
and  long  beard,  suddenly  appeared  from  one 
side  of  the  cabin. 

He  was  coatless,  hatless,  and  barefoot ;  a  gray 
shirt  patched  in  many  places  and  trousers  more 
so  were  his  only  dress ;  and,  as  he  halted,  look- 
ing first  at  one  and  then  at  another  of  the  group 
with  wide-open,  solemn  eyes,  his  arms  hung 
limp  and  motionless. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    HERMIT 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?"  said  Martin,  pleasantly, 
but  with  inward  trepidation.  "  My  friend  and 
myself  and  our  guides  have  just  landed  here 
and  made  bold  to  call." 

It  was  a  civil  speech  and  all  true,  but  it 
brought  no  response.  Instead,  this  Rip-Van- 
Winkle-like  man  looked  again  at  one  and  then 
another  of  the  four  with  his  big  round  eyes,  but 
uttered  no  word. 

"  I  hope  we  are  not  intruding,"  continued 
Martin;  "we  certainly  didn't  mean  to,  but  it 
was  curious  to  find  a  human  dwelling  here." 

Then  this  queer  old  man  spoke. 

"What  do  you  want,"  he  asked,  in  a  not 
unkind  voice,  "  are  you  hungry  ?  " 

It  was  like  the  first  thought  of  a  savage,  or 
perhaps,  of  all  wild  animals. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Martin,  "we  happened 
79 


fcC,        f  THE   HERMIT 

to  see  your  canoe  on  the  bank,  and  landed  out 
of  curiosity.  Then  we  followed  the  path  and 
found  your  cabin.  We  had  no  intention  of 
intruding,  and  hope  we  are  not." 

It  was  all  that  could  be  said,  but  it  had  no 
effect  upon  this  Nick  o'  the  Woods,  for  he 
made  no  reply,  but  turned  and  entered  his 
cabin,  closing  the  door  after  him. 

"  Well,  I  call  that  cool,"  muttered  the  doctor, 
while  Martin,  decidedly  taken  aback,  looked  at 
Levi. 

"Guess  we  ain't  welcome,"  he  said  again, 
glancing  at  the  closed  door,  "  and  had  best 
go."  It  was  seemingly  all  that  was  left,  and 
Martin,  more  astonished  than  ever,  turned 
and  led  the  way  back  to  the  canoes.  "  I've 
had  cold  shoulder  before,"  he  said,  when  well 
away,  "but  none  quite  like  this.  Why,  the 
man  must  be  demented." 

"  He  certainly  isn't  fond  of  society,"  re- 
sponded the  doctor,  and  then,  as  if  with 
common  impulse,  or  perhaps  because  suspense 
had  ended,  both  began  to  laugh  softly.  But 
another  and  less  humorous  side  to  the  situa- 
tion was  made  pertinent  by  the  sun,  now 


THE   HERMIT  8 1 

vanishing  into  the  wilderness  —  where  to  find 
a  camp  site.  To  camp  where  they  were,  and 
so  near  this  apparently  insane  hermit,  was  not, 
perhaps,  wise,  and  yet  curiosity  to  find  out 
more  about  him  held  them. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  give  up  this  way,"  asserted 
Martin,  at  last,  after  a  brief  discussion,  "  he's 
certainly  harmless,  and  I'm  going  to  try  him 
again.  Of  one  thing  I'm  satisfied  —  he  isn't 
our  wild  man." 

"  I  don't  want  to  meet  him  alone  in  the 
woods  after  dark,  though,"  responded  the 
doctor. 

But  night  was  near,  twilight  already  falling, 
and  in  a  little  cove,  just  around  from  the 
landing,  they  pushed  ashore  again  and  made 
a  hurried  camp. 

And  now  beside  the  cheerful  fire  once 
more,  with  the  dark  forest  on  one  side,  the 
little  lake  in  front  and  the  apparently  half- 
insane  and  altogether  mysterious  old  hermit 
not  a  hundred  rods  away,  they  discussed  him 
thoroughly  as  might  be  expected. 

As  every  detail  of  his  home  had  been  of 
interest,  so  now  was  he,  as  well  as  those  trifles. 


82  THE   HERMIT 

In  the  busy  world  one  man  is  so  like  hun- 
dreds of  others  in  garb,  speech,  habit,  and 
thought,  he  ceases  to  be  of  even  passing  inter- 
est. He  may  be  neat  or  slovenly,  handsome 
or  homely,  bright  or  stupid,  brave  or  cowardly, 
or  any  one  of  the  many  extremes  that  make 
up  human  nature  —  no  matter.  He  is  but 
one  grain  of  sand  among  millions  just  like 
him,  and  we  care  not  even  what  his  name 
may  be.  But  to  Martin  and  the  little  doctor, 
still  keenly  alive  to  the  mystery  that  had 
pursued  them  for  many  days,  and  now  com- 
ing upon  another,  as  great  if  less  dread,  it 
absorbed  all  thought,  or,  in  the  vernacular,  it 
"  kept  them  guessing."  And  for  reason. 

The  hermit,  for  such  he  must  be  called,  was 
no  different  in  dress  and  appearance  than 
any  man  of  his  age  would  be  who  had  turned 
his  back  upon  humanity  for  many  years,  his 
habitation  as  good  as  such  unaided  would  be 
likely  to  erect  —  in  fact,  better  cared  for  and 
with  more  of  refinement  about  it  than  one 
would  naturally  expect.  But  the  absorbing 
question  was  how  and  why  any  human  being 
—  much  less  one  who  would  plant  flowers, 


THE   HERMIT  83 

tame  a  squirrel,  and  even  sweep  out  his  abode 
—  would  be  content  to  thus  dwell  in  solitude 
twice  one  hundred  miles  from  a  human  dwell- 
ing. It  was  unaccountable,  and  the  longer 
Martin  and  the  doctor  discussed  it,  the  more 
so  it  seemed. 

And  then,  when  the  crackling  fire  had 
grown  silent  and  they  paused  in  the  chat  to 
watch  the  moon,  round  and  red,  creep  in 
sight  over  the  tree-tops,  adown  through  the 
still  night  air,  from  the  hermit's  hut,  came 
the  low,  soft  twanging  of  a  jews'-harp  very 
faintly;  yet  so  perfect  was  the  stillness,  even 
the  melody  that  unique  player  rendered  could 
be  distinguished,  and  "Way  down  upon  the 
Suwanee  River,"  whispered  through  the  for- 
est over  and  over  again.  Then  came  others 
of  the  same  sad  refrain,  to  end  at  last  with 
the  saddest  of  all,  "  Home,  Sweet  Home." 

In  silent  astonishment  now  Martin  and 
the  doctor  sat  listening  until  the  lowly,  pitiful 
playing  ceased,  and  then  looked  at  each 
other. 

A  new  and  still  more  unaccountable  and 
pathetic  element  of  mystery  had  been  added 


84  THE   HERMIT 

to  this  hermit's  character.  That  he  tamed 
squirrels  was  natural  enough ;  that  he  cared 
for  flowers  was  surprising;  but  to  find  he 
had  a  soul  attuned  to  melody  was  astonish- 
ing. 

And  he  was  content  to  live  thus  alone, 
buried  in  a  pathless  wilderness,  year  after 
year  ? 

It  was  past  all  comprehension. 

When  morning  came,  Martin  decided  that 
he  alone  might  possibly  obtain  some  considera- 
tion from  this  queer  hermit,  at  least  to  the 
extent  of  replies  to  a  few  questions,  and 
armed  with  a  can  of  condensed  milk  and  two 
or  three  cans  of  fruit  as  peace  offerings,  he 
made  him  a  call.  How  he  succeeded  can  best 
be  told  in  his  own  words. 

"  I  found  him  on  his  knees,"  he  reported  upon 
his  return,  "but  he  was  not  praying  —  merely 
•pulling  weeds  in  the  garden.  He  looked  up 
when  I  bade  him  good  morning,  and  then  kept 
on  weeding  without  a  word.  I  asked  one  or 
two  questions,  but  obtained  no  answer,  and 
then  a  little  in  doubt  whether  I  had  best  throw 
the  cans  at  him  and  run,  or  try  again,  I 


"THEY  HAVE  SOULS,  SAME  AS  YOU  AND  I" — Page  85 


THE   HERMIT  85 

paused.  Presently  he  arose,  looked  at  me 
with  those  moon  eyes,  and  asked  what  I  wanted. 
'Nothing,'  I  said,  'except  to  find  out  whether 
you  are  lonesome,  and  if  you  will  accept  what 
I've  brought.' 

"  He  shook  his  head,  turned  away,  faced 
around  again,  and  started  for  the  cabin,  and 
I  followed.  Here  he  sat  down  on  the  bench, 
lowered  his  face  into  his  hands,  and  for  five 
minutes  spoke  not  a  word.  I  put  the  cans 
down  beside  him,  squatted  on  a  stump,  and 
began  calling  to  the  squirrels.  Then  he  looked 
up  and  smiled,  and  I  never  was  more  grate- 
ful for  a  smile. 

" '  They  won't  hurt  you,'  he  said,  as  one 
came  close  to  me.  As  squirrels  seemed  to 
be  the  only  avenue  to  his  speech,  I  began  to 
talk  of  them,  and  he  joined  in,  telling  me 
how  they  stole  his  corn,  how  they  lived  with 
him  in  winter,  and  what  he  fed  them.  He 
called  them  up  to  him  with  one  peculiar  cluck 
and  stroked  them,  happy  as  a  child.  'They 
have  souls/  he  said  at  last,  '  same  as  you  and 
I,  and  I'm  going  to  be  one  of  'em  some  day.' " 

"  It  was  curious  and  yet  pitiful,  but  I  failed 


86  THE   HERMIT 

to  find  out  anything  about  him  —  how  long 
he'd  lived  there,  or  who  he  was.  One  or  two 
questions  he  answered  sane  enough,  others 
in  a  vague  way,  as  if  he  failed  to  understand 
them,  and  some  he  ignored  entirely.  When 
I  arose  to  go,  he  arose  also,  and  then  some 
sudden  impulse  led  me  to  offer  my  hand. 
He  took  it  naturally  enough,  and  we  shook 
with  a  warm  clasp. 

" '  Good-by,'  I  said,  and  he  said,  '  Good-by,' 
and  stood  and  watched  me  out  of  sight.  He 
is  sane,  and  yet  he  isn't,  or  rather,  he  is  almost 
childlike,  and  absolutely  harmless." 

"  He  must  have  some  sense  and  intelligence, 
or  he'd  starve  here,"  said  the  doctor,  when 
Martin  finished  his  story.  "  No  imbecile  or 
semi-lunatic  could  secure  food  and  keep  from 
freezing  winters." 

And  this  medical  opinion,  as  it  may  be 
called,  fairly  covered  the  case,  though  in  no 
wise  explaining  the  mystery.  Neither  did 
Martin  make  further  attempt  to  solve  it.  It 
may  have  been  from  a  sense  of  pity  for  this 
half-demented  old  man,  whose  sole  joy  was 
the  friendship  of  squirrels,  for  Martin  and  the 


THE   HERMIT  87 

doctor   left  the  lake  that  day,  and  the  hermit 
to  his  solitude,  as  well. 

No  more  queer  footprints  were  found,  how- 
ever, and  the  doctor  grew  less  nervous  as 
they  journeyed  through  the  wilderness.  But 
the  hermit's  face,  his  long  white  beard  and 
tangled  hair,  his  moon  eyes,  his  tame  squirrels, 
and  all  that  made  him  mysterious,  formed  the 
main  subject  discussed  around  each  evening's 
camp-fire.  Though  not  a  ghost,  yet  he  fol- 
lowed them  even  to  the  border  of  the  wilder- 
ness, a  pathetic,  mysterious,  and  altogether 
fascinating  memory. 


CHAPTER   X 

GREENVALE 

IT  was  a  brook,  or  rather  three  brooks, 
that  gave  birth  to  Greenvale.  One,  the  largest, 
known  as  the  Mizzy  (originally  Misery  stream) 
came  from,  no  one  knew  where,  up  between 
two  ranges  of  mountains  and  out  of  a  five-mile- 
long  morass,  rightly  called  Misery  Swamp. 
For  many  miles  the  Mizzy  twisted  and  turned 
between  high  wooded  banks,  diving  under 
overhanging  and  moss-covered  rock  walls, 
down  through  deep  intervales  canopied  with 
thick  hemlock  and  fir,  keeping  always  in 
shadow,  as  if  ashamed  of  its  origin,  till  at 
last  it  leaped  into  freedom  and  sunlight  over 
a  low  ledge  at  the  head  of  an  oval  valley. 
Here  it  was  joined  by  two  smaller  streams, 
one  called  Fall  Brook,  laughing  down  a  nar- 
row gorge  in  the  mountain,  active,  pure,  and 
fearless,  as  becomes  a  well-ordered  brook ; 


GREENVALE  89 

the  other  known  as  the  Ox  Bow,  and  of  a 
similar  tenor,  coming  from  the  opposite  range 
of  low  mountains  between  which  lies  the  valley 
now  partially  occupied  by  Greenvale. 

At  the  head  of  this,  ever  so  many  years 
ago,  an  enterprising  pioneer  named  Asa  Curtis 
built  a  sawmill,  taking  his  power  through  a 
flume  out  of  the  ready-at-hand  falls  of  the 
Mizzy,  and  floating  his  logs  down  that  stream 
at  spring-freshet  time.  Gradually  others  joined 
him,  until  a  half-dozen  houses  were  grouped 
near  the  junction  of  the  three  streams,  and 
the  spot  became  known  as  The  Forks.  Then 
others  came,  clearing  up  the  fertile  valley 
below  and  erecting  houses.  A  grist-mill  and 
dam  were  built  just  above  the  mouth  of  Fall 
Brook,  and  following  these  natural  adjuncts 
of  civilization  came  a  small  log  schoolhouse, 
and  later  a  little  church  in  the  valley  below. 
A  semi-weekly  stage  line  was  established  to 
a  larger  village  twenty  miles  further  down 
the  Mizzy,  and  where  it  joined  a  river,  which 
service  was  finally  increased  to  a  daily  one. 
A  tavern  with  a  capacious  open  fireplace  in 
its  office  and  bar-room  combined,  was  built; 


90  THE   HERMIT 

one,  two,  and  finally  three  stores  were  started, 
and  in  place  of  "  The  Forks,"  the  village  name 
was  changed  to  Greenvale. 

In  the  meantime  the  Revolution  had  been 
fought,  the  village  cemetery  had  grown  to 
ample  proportions,  Asa  Curtis  had  passed  on, 
his  son  Jotham,  inheriting  the  saw  and  grist 
mill,  had  become  old,  and  as  gray  as  the 
flour  that  daily  settled  upon  him,  until  he, 
too,  was  laid  away  in  the  quiet  part  of  the 
village,  willing  the  two  mills,  his  lands,  and 
ever  so  many  acres  of  forest,  together  with 
the  capacious  house  he  had  built  at  the  head 
of  the  valley,  to  his  two  sons,  David  and  Amzi, 
with  the  queerest  kind  of  a  provision.  There 
was  to  be  no  division,  but  the  property  must 
be  shared  in  common ;  neither  could  sell  a 
foot  of  land  while  the  other  lived,  and  the  sur- 
vivor should  inherit  all.  Both  were  to  occupy 
the  dwelling,  taking  care  of  their  mother  while 
she  lived.  David,  the  elder,  was  to  manage 
the  saw  and  Amzi  the  grist  mill.  As  might 
be  expected,  tying  two  men  together  in  such 
a  manner  was  sure  to  produce  discord,  and 
it  did.  Then,  to  make  an  unhappy  situation 


GREENVALE  91 

worse,  the  two  brothers  were  diametrically 
opposite  in  temper  and  disposition.  David 
was  close-fisted  to  the  verge  of  meanness,  nar- 
row-minded, conceited,  self-willed,  and  bigoted 
in  his  religious  opinions;  while  Amzi  —  free- 
hearted, kindly  natured,  easy-going,  knew  not 
the  value  of  money,  nor  cared  —  a  dreamer 
who  loved  nature,  and  was  totally  indifferent 
to  the  rigid  Calvinism  that  constituted  Green- 
vale's  religion.  He  would  rather  raise  flowers 
than  corn,  go  fishing  than  work,  and  liked  to 
spend  his  Sundays  in  the  woods  better  than 
in  church.  In  due  course  he  married,  though 
his  brother  never  did,  and  after  a  year  built 
a  small  house  near  the  sawmill,  and,  with 
his  young  wife,  left  the  paternal  abode.  By 
this  time  a  feud  had  started  between  the  two 
brothers,  so  bitter  that  they  were  not  on  speak- 
ing terms.  Then  a  child  —  a  girl  —  was  born 
to  Amzi.  A  freshet  destroyed  the  dam  above 
his  mill,  and  David  refused  to  rebuild  it,  though 
begged  to  do  so  by  the  neighbors,  who  knew 
the  situation.  Amzi  got  into  debt  and  dis- 
couraged, and  then  to  crown  troubles,  his 
wife  sickened  and  died.  He  grew  more 


92  THE  HERMIT 

morose  and  despondent,  was  often  absent  in 
the  woods  all  day,  until  one  June  morning 
the  little  girl,  Angeline,  woke  up  to  find  her- 
self alone  in  the  house. 

Her  father  had  taken  his  gun,  a  few  of  his 
clothes,  and  had  left  for  parts  unknown. 

Then  the  girl,  old  enough  to  know  the  bit- 
ter feeling  that  existed  between  her  father 
and  uncle,  took  refuge  with  her  mother's  older 
sister,  a  widow  living  farther  down  the  valley, 
and  the  little  house  by  the  mill  was  closed ; 
and  for  many  days  and  weeks  the  entire  vil- 
lage waited  and  watched  for  the  missing  man's 
return,  but  in  vain. 

Mrs.  Comfort  Day,  or  Aunt  Comfort,  to 
whom  the  child  had  flown,  was  advised  to 
take  legal  action,  but  refused.  "The  Lord's 
wrath  '11  overtake  him  some  day,"  she  said,  "V 
while  we're  waitin',  I'll  take  care  o'  Angie." 

She  adopted  the  girl,  rearing  her  as  her 
own;  and  so,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the 
heritage  of  Amzi  reverted  to  David. 

But  it  carried  a  curse,  for  a  sense  of  jus- 
tice, beyond  the  power  of  foolish  wills  or  law, 
existed  in  that  simple  village,  and  all  consid- 


GREENVALE  93 

ered  David  Curtis  responsible  for  the  strange 
disappearance  of  his  brother.  In  time  he 
rebuilt  the  dam,  for  grist  must  be  ground, 
attended  to  his  sawing,  went  regularly  to 
church,  as  usual,  grew  more  exacting,  ava- 
ricious, and  mean  than  ever,  if  that  were  pos- 
sible ;  refused  to  pay  the  debts  Amzi  had 
incurred,  held  converse  with  but  few,  and 
that  solely  on  business,  and  seemed  to  defy 
the  tide  of  public  opinion  which  he  knew  was 
setting  against  him. 

When  his  mother,  about  the  only  friend  left 
him  in  the  village,  died,  an  old  negress  was 
imported  to  keep  house  for  him ;  and  if  lack 
of  social  recognition  and  probable  gnawing  of 
conscience  could  be  considered  as  wrath  of 
God,  Aunt  Comfort's  benediction  seemed  likely 
of  fulfilment. 

He  was  still  a  rich  man,  however;  the  Rev. 
Eleazer  Jones  still  extended  the  brotherly  hand 
to  him ;  he  was  ever  ready  to  contribute  liber- 
ally to  the  church  as  if  that  would  buy  him 
absolution ;  a  few  sycophants  fawned  upon 
him,  hoping  for  return,  and  so  his  life  was 
not  entirely  useless. 


94  THE   HERMIT 

In  the  meantime  Greenvale  slowly  increased 
in  size ;  the  falls  of  the  Mizzy  shouted  in 
the  spring  and  murmured  in  summer;  winter 
evenings  found  many  of  the  villagers  gathered 
in  Captain  Tobey's  tavern,  swapping  news  and 
sipping  toddy ;  crops  and  silos  and  the  cheap- 
est fertilizers  were  here  discussed ;  the  village 
was  divided  into  districts,  and  each  district 
was  furnished  with  a  more  modern  and  framed 
schoolhouse,  and  Angie  Curtis,  now  grown  to 
young  womanhood,  was  installed  as  teacher  in 
one  of  them. 

A  new  orthodox  church,  fitted  with  a  tall 
spire,  a  larger  bell,  and  also  a  mortgage,  had 
been  erected;  another  and  smaller,  a  Unitarian 
church,  also  arose,  flourished  meagrely  for  two 
years  and  then  closed,  also  in  debt.  Solomon 
Finch,  a  quick-witted  though  under-sized  young 
man,  who  had  gone  away  to  study  medicine, 
returned  to  dispense  pills,  paregoric,  and  plausi- 
bilities to  Greenvaleites ;  a  village  debating 
society  started,  and  the  need  of  paved  side- 
walks, a  system  of  sewers,  a  water-supply, 
and  an  academy  discussed.  An  annual  town- 
meeting  was  held,  where  the  momentous  ques- 


GREENVALE  95 

tions  of  who  should  be  first  selectman,  super- 
visor of  road  making,  pound-keeper,  hog-reeve, 
field-drivers,  and  school  committee  men,  were 
settled ;  and  more  than  all  this  in  importance, 
a  railroad  had  crept  up  to  within  twenty  miles 
of  Greenvale,  with  promise  of  extension  to  it 
in  the  near  future. 

All  this  is  but  a  series  of  marginal  notes 
showing  Greenvale's  evolution  from  The  Forks, 
and  when  Dr.  Sol  deserted  his  patients  for  the 
first  time  since  he  began  practice,  and  went 
away  for  an  outing  with  Martin  Frisbie,  an 
old  schoolmate,  the  village  was  as  prosperous 
as  one  so  far  from  a  railroad  could  be. 


CHAPTER   XI 

AUNT  COMFORT'S  ASYLUM 

"  NEZER  !  Nezer !  "  called  Aunt  Comfort, 
from  the  kitchen  door  that  June  Sunday 
morning,  but  no  answer  came.  "  I  declare  I 
never  see  the  beat  o'  that  boy,"  she  muttered, 
returning  to  the  sitting  room,  "  he's  never 
'round  'ceptin'  meal  times,  'n'  then  he's  allus 
under  foot." 

"What  is  it,  auntie,"  inquired  a  younger 
lady,  dressed  in  gray  cashmere,  and  drawing 
on  a  well-worn  glove,  "anything  I  can  do  for 
you  ?  " 

"  I  want  a  sprig  o'  fennel  and  a  bunch  o' 
them  laylocks  to  put  on  the  pulpit,  'n'  the  last 
bell  '11  be  ringin'  in  a  minute,"  the  elder  one 
responded  in  a  "  flustered "  tone,  while  glanc- 
ing into  a  small,  gilt-framed  mirror. 

Without  a  word  Angie  gathered  her  skirts 
up,  barely  showing  trim  ankles,  and,  tripping 
96 


AUNT  COMFORT'S  ASYLUM  97 

into  the  garden,  soon  returned  with  a  cluster 
of  fennel  still  moist  with  dew.  Then,  stepping 
out  of  the  front  door,  she  broke  long  twigs  of 
lilac  blossoms  from  the  two  luxuriant  bushes 
flanking  the  porch. 

"  I'll  go  on  ahead,  auntie,"  she  said,  placing 
her  fragrant  bouquet  on  the  stone  step  while 
she  drew  on  the  other  glove,  "and  you  and 
Hannah  can  come  when  she  is  ready." 

Angie  had  always  "  gone  ahead "  in  Aunt 
Comfort's  home,  ever  since  she  had  reached 
the  close  of  school  days.  And  now,  a  little 
past  "old  maid's  corner,"  but  not  looking  it, 
she  ruled  the  household. 

It  was  an  odd  collection,  too,  for  Aunt  Com- 
fort, large  of  heart  as  person,  had,  in  the  sixties, 
contributed  husband  and  only  son  to  the  cause 
of  freedom,  and  to  console  herself  in  part  had 
established  a  "  sort  o'  'sylum  for  the  homeless," 
as  Greenvale  would  put  it.  First  came  Hannah 
Pettibone,  a  hopeless  spinster,  so  angular  of 
temper  and  features  that  no  one  but  Aunt  Com- 
fort would  have  her  around.  Then  Angie,  a 
tot  of  six,  who  one  morning  had  awakened  to 
complete  orphanhood  and  desertion  in  the  house 


98  THE   HERMIT 

near  the  mill,  and  scared,  hungry,  and  in  tears, 
had  run  to  her  aunt's  with  her  tale  of  woe  and 
the  first  news  of  her  father's  disappearance. 
After  Angie  came  Hans,  an  import,  who  walked 
barefoot  into  Greenvale  one  hot  summer  day, 
his  possessions  tied  in  a  red  bandanna,  and  he 
unable  to  speak  a  word  of  English. 

It  mattered  not,  however,  for  as  "  Aunt 
Lorena "  Thorp  phrased  it,  "  If  a  tramp  was 
lookin'  for  a  hum,  he'd  find  Aunt  Comfort's 
door  open." 

Her  last  addition  to  this  motley  collection  was 
Ebenezer  Talmage,  or  "  Nezer,"  whose  father 
had  been  sent  to  jail  for  stealing,  and  whose 
mother,  discouraged  by  poverty  and  a  cough, 
had  gone  hence,  leaving  him  a  town  charge. 

As  was  customary  in  Greenvale,  Nezer  was 
then  "bound  out  "  to  the  highest  bidder.  That 
is,  some  landowner  gave  a  bond  for  the  boy's 
maintenance,  agreeing  to  allow  him  so  many 
month's  schooling  until  he  reached  the  age  of 
fourteen,  and,  in  lieu  thereof,  to  receive  his 
labor  until  of  age.  In  this  case  David  Curtis 
became  Nezer's  proprietor,  but  as  David's  table- 
board  was  notorious  for  its  "thinness,"  the  hun- 


AUNT  COMFORT'S  ASYLUM  99 

gry  boy  was  soon  driven  to  secret  visits  pantry- 
ward,  to  end  in  discovery,  a  whipping,  and  a 
bread-and-water  diet  for  three  days. 

But  Nezer  was  not  the  boy  to  endure  this  for 
long,  and  one  cold  winter  morn  Aunt  Comfort 
found  him  half  starved,  at  her  back  door,  crying 
and  begging  for  food. 

How  her  motherly  heart  opened,  how  she 
warmed  and  fed  him  beside  the  kitchen  stove  ; 
how  he  pleaded  to  remain,  willing  to  work  and 
sleep  in  the  barn  ;  and  how  she,  with  misgiv- 
ings as  to  "  the  law  on  't,"  finally  consented,  is 
numbered  with  her  many  Good  Samaritan  acts. 

"  It's  a  burnin'  shame  to  treat  a  poor  orphan 
that  way,"  was  her  comment,  "  'n'  if  David  Cur- 
tis wants  him  back,  let  him  come  'n'  fetch  him. 
If  he  does,  he'll  git  a  piece  o'  my  mind." 

But  David  made  no  effort  to  reclaim  Nezer, 
and  as  no  one  else  cared  what  became  of  him, 
Aunt  Comfort  added  him  to  her  assortment  of 
unfortunates,  and  set  about  bringing  him  up 
according  to  her  light.  He  was  a  hard  problem 
to  solve,  however,  for  once  fed  and  warmed,  his 
sole  ambition  was  mischief  of  the  most  diaboli- 
cal kind.  He  shod  Aunt  Comfort's  cat  with 


100  THE   HERMIT 

clam-shells,  fastened  by  grafting-wax,  and,  with 
a  fish-line  for  halter,  gave  that  unhappy  cat  her 
first  lesson  in  skating  on  the  mill-pond.  It  was 
joy  supreme  to  Nezer,  while  he  watched  his 
victim  humping,  yowling,  and  vainly  clawing 
the  smooth  ice,  as  the  wind  drew  her  across, 
only  to  be  dragged  back  and  repeat  the  exer- 
cise. When  early  spring  came,  he  found  a  nest 
of  black  snakes,  still  dormant,  and  putting  them 
in  a  bag,  took  them  to  Angie's  school,  where  he 
was  a  pupil,  and,  slyly  tucking  them  under  the 
Franklin  stove,  awaited  developments,  which 
came  in  due  time,  and  resulted  in  every  girl,  in- 
cluding Angie,  seeking  safety  on  top  of  benches 
and  desks  and  screaming  with  delirious  fear, 
while  the  big  boys  enjoyed  a  snake-killing  bee. 

Nezer's  star  act  came  later,  however,  when 
he  caught  and  placed  a  large  eel  in  Hannah's 
bed  one  night,  and  as  that  spinster  felt  the  cold 
creature  squirming  around  her  attenuated  legs, 
she  paused  not  at  all  until  she  landed  at  the 
foot  of  the  back  stairs  with  a  broken  arm, 
besides  serious  injury  to  her  feelings. 

Of  course  Nezer  and  Aunt  Comfort  held  dis- 
cussions over  the  subjects  of  snakes  and  eels, 


AUNT  COMFORT'S  ASYLUM  IOI 

during  which  a  handful  of  wiry  apple  sprouts 
were  the  convincing  argument.  They  had  an 
enlivening  effect  on  Nezer's  bare  legs,  but 
failed  in  moral  influence,  for  when  bumble- 
bees came  it  occurred  to  him  that  Hans, 
always  slow  and  phlegmatic,  would  most  likely 
be  livened  up  some  by  "bumbles."  To  Nezer 
it  seemed  a  happy  thought,  and  he  accordingly 
trapped  a  few  of  those  insects  in  a  jar,  and 
deftly  inserted  it  between  the  sheets  of  Han's 
bed  late  one  night.  That  stolid  boy  was  never 
before  known  to  hurry  much  in  getting  out,  but 
this  time  he  did,  and  without  waiting  for  a  call. 

There  was  no  end  to  the  pranks  Nezer  cut  up 
at  home,  around  the  village,  or  at  school,  which 
he  kept  in  an  uproar  most  of  the  time,  until,  no 
matter  what  happened,  it  became  a  foregone 
conclusion,  "  Nezer  did  it." 

Of  course  Aunt  Comfort,  in  her  desire  to 
bring  Nezer  up  in  the  way  he  should  be,  pro- 
vided a  new  suit  with  brass  buttons  and  collar 
pinned  to  the  roundabout,  and  bow  of  black 
silk  from  a  remnant  of  an  old  dress,  and,  thus 
arrayed,  took  him  to  church.  But  wearing  this 
uncomfortable  raiment,  and  sitting  two  hours  in 


102  THE   HERMIT 

a  high-backed  pew,  while  the  birds  were  sing- 
ing in  the  trees  outside,  and  trout  might  be 
caught,  was  dire  punishment  to  Nezer,  and 
when  breakfast  and  chores  were  over  Sunday 
mornings,  his  red  hair  and  freckled  face  were 
usually  missing. 

Angie,  however,  was  the  bright  particular 
star  in  Aunt  Comfort's  asylum,  and  from  the 
day  she  entered  it,  barefoot  and  in  tears,  until 
now,  —  well  developed  and  well  poised,  —  she 
was  at  once  the  life,  light,  and  guiding  spirit  of 
the  household,  and  the  idol  of  her  aunt's  heart. 
She  planned  the  style  and  made  most  of  Aunt 
Comfort's  and  Hannah's  dresses,  trimmed  their 
best  "bunnits,"  and  as  the  asylum's  income  de- 
pended upon  a  few  acres  tilled  by  hired  help, 
together  with  two  cows  and  a  flock  of  poultry, 
as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough  she  had  applied 
for  and  obtained  a  chance  to  teach  in  one  of 
the  outlying  district  schools  a  mile  from  the 
village. 

She  also,  by  rare  economy,  added  a  little  to 
the  home  furnishing,  and  replaced  the  old- 
fashioned  melodeon  in  the  parlor  with  a  modern 
piano,  and  during  many  a  lonely  evening  taught 


AUNT   COMFORT'S  ASYLUM  1 03 

herself  to  play.  Like  most  country  girls,  of 
whom  she  was  a  fair  type,  she  became  self-help- 
ful and  self-reliant  at  an  early  age. 

While  Angie  was  the  light  of  the  home,  Aunt 
Comfort  may  be  called  its  statue  of  Faith,  Hope, 
and  Charity  combined.  Trouble,  poverty,  and 
self-denial  had  been  her  portion  for  many  years  ; 
she  lived  and  worked  almost  solely  for  others 
without  complaint,  and,  except  for  Angie,  would 
not  have  gratified  herself  with  a  new  dress  or 
"  bunnit "  once  in  five  years.  She  saw  only  the 
best  side  of  all ;  if  they  failed  to  do  right,  it  was 
from  lack  of  knowledge  rather  than  intention. 
Only  kindly  words  ever  fell  from  her  lips  (ex- 
cept in  one  case,  and  that  well  merited),  and 
though  urged  to  do  so  by  Squire  Phinney,  she 
flatly  refused  even  to  demand  from  David 
Curtis  Angle's  rights  and  inheritance. 

"  Let  him  keep  it  if  he  wants  to,"  she  said ; 
"  he  won't  be  the  happier  for  't  in  the  long  run, 
'n'  soon  or  late  the  Lord  '11  see  justice  sarved." 

In  fact,  this  ingrained  faith  that  in  due  time 
the  Lord  would  right  all  wrongs,  was  the  key- 
note of  her  character.  David  Curtis  was,  as  all 
Greenvale  knew,  a  pious  hypocrite,  a  grasping 


IO4  THE   HERMIT 

miser,  willing  to  rob  even  his  orphaned  niece  of 
her  heritage,  as  he  had,  and  yet  Aunt  Comfort 
still  believed  that  he  would  yet  be  made  to 
repent. 

Her  home  was  also  as  capacious  as  her  be- 
nevolence, an  ancestral  inheritance,  brown  and 
moss  covered.  It  stood  well  back  from  the 
village  street,  with  vine-covered  porch  flanked 
by  lilacs,  two  oval  panes  over  the  front  door, 
giant  maples,  scarred  by  countless  auger  holes, 
shaded  the  deep  dooryard  whose  picket  fence 
leaned  zig-zag  and  gray,  and  where  peonies, 
sweet-williams,  and  hollyhocks  grew. 

Inside  the  house  was  even  more  antique, 
with  angular,  haircloth  furniture  and  brass  fire- 
dogs  in  the  parlor,  lithographs  of  George  Wash- 
ington and  Perry's  victory  on  the  walls,  and 
green  and  gold  shades,  never  raised  except  on 
state  occasions.  In  the  sitting  room,  more 
cheerful,  with  a  bright  rag  carpet  and  chintz- 
covered  settle,  stood  a  tall  clock  of  solemn  tick, 
while  four-posters,  girded  with  cords,  and 
wooden  chairs  painted  blue,  stood  in  the  spa- 
cious chambers.  These  never  knew  carpets,  and 
the  floor  of  the  best  one  was  also  painted  blue. 


AUNT   COMFORT'S   ASYLUM  1 05 

This,  on  cold  winter  nights,  contained  countless 
shivers  and  chills  as  well. 

The  garret  was  always  odorous  with  sassa- 
fras, pennyroyal,  and  peppermint,  for  Aunt 
Comfort  believed  in  "arbs"  ;  and  big  and  little 
spinning-wheels  gathered  dust  under  the  rafters, 
from  which  in  winter  depended  well-browned 
hams  and  links  of  sausage. 

A  vein  of  pathos  as  well  as  benevolence  ran 
through  Aunt  Comfort's  life,  for  in  the  best 
chamber  closet  hung  a  faded  blue  blouse,  cap, 
sword,  and  belt.  They  were  the  sole  relics  of 
her  husband,  Captain  Day,  returned  to  her  by  a 
comrade  of  his  on  the  field  of  Gettysburg.  The 
blouse  was  torn  and  blood-stained,  the  sword 
rusty,  the  belt  mildewed,  but  all  the  wealth  of 
the  Indies  could  not  have  bought  them  from 
Aunt  Comfort. 

Once  a  year,  and  always  on  the  tenth  of  May, 
—  her  wedding-day,  —  she  went  to  that  closet 
alone,  and,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  dusted  them 
carefully,  put  them  back,  and,  locking  them  in 
and  her  own  sorrow  with  them,  resumed  her 
patient,  hopeful,  helpful  life. 


CHAPTER  XII 

GREENVALE     IS     DISTURBED 

DR.  SOL'S  return  to  Greenvale  was  an  event 
in  the  annals  of  that  quiet  village.  For  fifteen 
years  he  had  traversed  his  daily  rounds,  feeling 
pulses,  prescribing  pills,  and  how  the  old  ladies 
with  their  "  janders,"  and  old  men  with  lumbago 
got  along  without  him  for  a  month  was  a 
marvel.  But  none  died,  and  though  not  flatter- 
ing to  him  none  were  the  worse  off.  Naturally 
the  story  of  his  wonderful  adventures  in  the 
wilderness,  the  wild  man,  the  lone  cabin  with 
its  bell  signal,  and  the  hermit,  made  an  exciting 
tale  which  was  listened  to  with  open-mouthed 
wonder  by  all.  Martin  Frisbie's  possible  re- 
turn, rich,  and  likely  to  abide  in  Greenvale,  was 
also  of  keen  interest,  and  for  a  week  this  and 
the  doctor's  experiences  formed  the  sole  topic 
of  conversation  in  every  home.  His  subsequent 
call  at  Aunt  Comfort's,  where  he  and  his  fat 
wife  "  drapped  in  "  about  once  a  week,  was 
1 06 


GREENVALE   IS  DISTURBED  107 

also  an  event,  and  for  three  hours  he  talked 
steadily.  Nezer  was  the  most  interested 
listener,  however,  and  he  sat  in  one  corner,  so 
excited  that  he  hardly  breathed.  He  had  read 
a  few  dime  novels,  but  this  was  the  real  thing, 
and  Dr.  Sol  a  hero  beyond  compare.  For  days 
and  weeks  after  Nezer  lived  over  that  marvel- 
lous tale  again  and  again,  each  time  counting 
the  years  that  must  elapse  ere  he  could  obtain  a 
gun  and  go  into  the  wilderness  and  live  as  that 
old  hermit  did.  Aunt  Comfort  and  the  rest 
were  also  charmed  listeners,  and  when  the 
doctor  came  to  Martin's  probable  return  to 
Greenvale,  Angie  was  the  most  interested  of 
all,  and  not  entirely  pleased  with  it.  He  had 
been  her  youthful  knight-errant  in  school  days, 
and  later  at  parties,  husking-bees,  and  the  like ; 
he  had  taught  her  the  lesson  of  first  love  and 
then  left  her  abruptly,  and  she  was  not  of 
the  fibre  that  soon  forgot.  She  cherished  no 
malice ;  she  was  now  mature  enough  to  realize 
that  such  early  experiences  are  inevitable  and  to 
be  laughed  over  later  on,  and  yet  she  was  not 
anxious  to  meet  Martin  again.  She  fancied 
from  the  doctor's  meagre  description  that  he 


108  THE  HERMIT 

had  grown  stout,  consequential,  and  arrogant 
over  his  success  in  life ;  that  he  had  attained  to 
riches  and  would  insist  on  informing  every  one 
of  that  fact  in  all  manner  of  ways.  She  hated 
bumptious  men  at  sight,  and  was  sure  he  would 
now  prove  to  be  one.  Once  he  was  her  girlish 
ideal,  now  he  would  inevitably  prove  irritating. 
While  the  voluble  doctor  was  mingling  more  or 
less  of  Martin  —  his  looks,  actions,  speech,  and 
opinions  —  into  the  tale  of  adventure,  Angie, 
keen  and  well  accustomed  to  drawing  her  own 
conclusions,  now  formed  an  opinion  of  Martin, 
and  one  not  to  his  credit.  The  doctor  had 
liked  him  —  that  was  to  be  expected ;  they 
both  enjoyed  wood  life,  and  Martin  had  paid  all 
expenses,  she  learned  —  that  was  another  reason. 
His  return  to  spend  more  money  in  Greenvale 
would  redound  to  the  doctor's  credit  (still  more 
reason  for  admiration),  and  as  Dr.  Sol  talked 
on  and  on,  Angie  became  distrustful  and  more 
certain  that  she  would  rather  never  meet  this 
old-time  admirer  again. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  evening,  Dr.  Sol  also 
indulged  in  unfortunate  raillery. 

"  I  fancy,"  he   said,    "  that   a  certain  plump 


GREENVALE  IS  DISTURBED  109 

schoolma'am  here  is  the  magnet  that  is  draw- 
ing Martin  to  Greenvale,  and  if  she  is  wise, 
she  will  meet  him  halfway."  Then,  as  Angie 
made  no  response,  he  added :  "  You  were  about 
the  only  person  here  in  whom  he  showed  much 
interest,  Angie.  He  inquired  how  you  looked 
and  what  you  were  doing,  and  when  I  assured 
him  you  had  no  beau  and  were  most  likely 
waiting  for  him  —  well,  if  we  hadn't  been  fol- 
lowing a  mysterious  wild  man,  I  think  he'd 
have  started  out  of  the  woods  next  day." 

It  was  only  the  doctor's  pleasantry,  of  course, 
but  Angle's  eyes  snapped. 

"  I  wonder  you  didn't  tell  him  I  had  kept  a  wed- 
ding-gown all  ready  for  ten  years,"  she  answered, 
"  and  would  come  to  the  city  to  meet  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  wouldn't  expect  that,"  continued 
the  doctor,  who  never  tired  of  teasing  Angie; 
"  but  I  assured  him  that  I  never  met  you  with- 
out you  mentioned  him  in  some  way,  and  he 
could  pop  the  question  with  perfect  safety.  I 
think  he  will,  too." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  rejoined  Angie,  with  spirit, 
"  all  men  imagine  that  every  woman  they  look 
at  twice  is  ready  to  fall  into  their  arms,  espe- 


1 10  THE   HERMIT 

cially  those  who  belong  to  the  medical  pro- 
fession. Of  all  men  blessed  with  abnormal 
self-esteem,  commend  me  to  a  doctor !  " 

But  Dr.  Sol  never  winced.  "  I'll  bet  you  a 
wedding-hat  against  a  box  of  cigars,  Angie," 
he  continued,  "  that  you  will  contrive  to  go  to 
church  alone  the  first  evening  he  is  likely  to  be 
there ;  or  if  he  calls  sooner,  he  will  find  you 
with  best  bib  and  tucker  on." 

When  the  callers  had  departed,  Aunt  Comfort 
addressed  her  with  :  "  I  think,  Angie,  we'd  best 
set  to  'n'  make  up  that  figgered  muslin  you  was 
callatin'  for  best  this  summer,  'n'  mebbe  a  couple 
o'  pretty  waists.  If  Martin  Frisbie's  comin'  to 
visit  the  doctor,  he'll  be  like  to  call,  'n'  you'll 
want  suthin'  cool  'n'  becomin'  to  wear." 

"  He  will  see  me  in  my  everyday  dress  or  not 
at  all,"  returned  Angie,  firmly.  "  Besides,  I 
don't  believe  yet  he's  coming.  City  men  have 
no  use  for  us  country  people.  We  are  too  slow." 

But  this  was  only  the  beginning  to  Angie's 
annoyance,  for  the  next  Sunday  at  church, 
Aunt  Lorey,  who  was  deaf  and  talked  unduly 
loud,  waited  for  her  coming  out. 

"  I  hear,"  she  said,  loud  enough  to  be  heard 


GREENVALE   IS   DISTURBED  III 

across  the  street,  "  that  your  old  beau's  comin' 
back.  I  s'pose  you'll  be  settin'  yer  cap  fer 
him,  won't  ye?  They  say  he's  got  a  lot  o' 
money."  And  Angle  felt  like  smiting  Aunt 
Lorey  with  her  parasol. 

It  was  fortunate,  perhaps,  that  this  breeze 
of  gossip  and  raillery  blew  over  before  Martin 
reached  Greenvale;  and  it  must  be  recorded, 
also,  that  Angie  changed  her  mind  in  one  re- 
spect, and  set  about  making  needed  additions 
to  her  wardrobe.  Whether  this  was  or  was 
not  in  any  respect  due  to  a  desire  to  look  well 
in  the  eyes  of  this  returning  hero,  or  solely  to 
a  fair  maid's  latent  vanity,  can  be  safely  left 
to  the  sneering  critics  of  the  fair  sex. 

For  one  thing,  she  had  certainly  outgrown 
the  illusion  of  her  youth ;  Martin  was  no  more 
to  her  than  any  other  well-behaved  man ;  and 
yet,  down  deep  in  her  heart,  was  a  little  crav- 
ing for  revenge.  She  had  suffered  like  all 
silly  girls,  she  said  to  herself,  and  now  if  he 
was  returning  with  the  idea  of  finding  her  a 
love-lorn  maid  awaiting  his  smile  of  favor,  she 
would  soon  disabuse  him  of  that  conceit. 

And  she  was  capable  of  it! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ILLUSION   AND    REALITY 

WHILE  Martin  had  assured  the  doctor  that 
he  intended  to  return  to  Greenvale  for  an 
indefinite  time,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  would 
except  for  two  reasons  —  first,  Angie,  and  sec- 
ond, the  mania  that  all  country-born  men  of 
Waltonian  instincts  who  drift  cityward  soon 
or  late  have,  to  retire  to  the  peace  of  rural 
life  and  establish  a  trout  preserve. 

In  Martin's  case  it  may  be  asserted  that  it 
was  the  lady,  more  especially,  that  was  the 
attraction. 

It  is  a  curious  phenomenon  of  love  and  logic 
that  one  may  continue  for  years  thinking  only 
of  and  striving  toward  one  end  and  aim,  and 
then  some  trifle  may  change  the  current  of 
thought  and  ambition.  With  Martin  it  was 
the  jesting  assertion  of  the  doctor  that  Angie 
was  a  love-lorn  maiden  still,  and  doubtless  wait- 

112 


ILLUSION  AND   REALITY  113 

ing  for  him  to  claim  her.  And  such  is  the 
astonishing  vanity  of  most  men  in  assuming 
how  their  early  sweethearts  are  sure  to  feel, 
that  Martin  (no  exception)  felt  that  the  doc- 
tor's jest  might  perhaps  be  true.  A  suspicion 

% 

soon  grows  to  a  certainty,  and  once  Martin 
began  to  recall  that  early  episode  in  his  life, 
the  more  guilty  he  felt,  and  the  more  sure  that 
he  wanted  to  return  and  pay  court  once  more 
to  Angie.  He  could  also  afford  a  wife  now, 
and  with  him  all  indulgences,  from  an  outing 
trip  into  the  wilderness  to  establishing  a  home, 
were  decided  upon  from  an  economic  stand- 
point. It  was  weeks  before  he  could  so  shape 
his  business  affairs  as  to  leave  the  city  tem- 
porarily, and  midsummer  ere  he  packed  his 
trunk,  and,  with  an  unwieldy  bundle  of  rods, 
started  for  Greenvale. 

"  Fishing  in  the  old  brooks  will  serve  as  an 
excuse,"  he  said  to  himself,  but  it  was  to  angle 
for  Angie  rather  than  trout. 

Little  did  he  realize  how  many  keen  disap- 
pointments were  in  store  for  him,  or  how  most 
of  the  charming  fancies  of  his  boyhood  were  to 
be  dispelled. 


114  THE   HERMIT 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  neglected  to  notify 
Dr.  Sol  when  he  was  likely  to  reach  Greenvale, 
and  so  it  happened,  when  the  twenty-mile  stage 
ride  ended  and  that  dust-laden  vehicle,  with 
Martin  as  sole  passenger,  halted  at  the  doctor's 
just  at  twilight,  no  one  was  there  to  receive 
him.  Martin  paid  the  rather  surly  driver  who 
dumped  his  trunk  on  the  porch  and  then  hur- 
ried away,  oblivious  to  what  became  of,  or  how 
fared,  his  passenger. 

Then  Martin  sat  down  to  think. 

He  had  returned  to  the  home  of  his  boyhood 
after  twelve  years'  absence,  dusty,  hungry, 
tired,  and  slightly  cross,  and  his  only  welcome 
was  an  empty  house  and  the  chance  to  skirmish 
for  supper  at  the  village  tavern. 

This  he  did  with  not  over-satisfying  results, 
and  then  he  wandered  up  the  street.  A  quietude 
akin  to  that  of  a  cemetery  now  pervaded  it,  and 
though  occasionally  he  could  see  the  occupants 
of  a  house  out  on  the  porch,  most  of  the  houses 
seemed  empty.  Fireflies  twinkled  above  the 
broad  meadows  of  the  Mizzy,  down  the  valley 
came  the  low  murmur  of  its  falls,  the  scent  of 
new-mown  hay  perfumed  the  air,  and  as  he 


ILLUSION   AND   REALITY  115 

strolled  on,  somewhat  soothed  by  the  even- 
ing's stillness  and  his  cigar,  he  came  in 
sight  of  Aunt  Comfort's.  Toward  it  he  had 
many  times  before  turned  his  steps  on  just 
such  summer  evenings  long  ago,  and  what  if 
Angie  should  be  there  now  on  the  vine-hid 
porch  alone  and  waiting  his  coming,  as  she 
used  to  then !  The  thought  made  his  pulses 
quicken,  but  as  he  drew  near  he  halted.  The 
spot  had  not  changed  at  all.  The  great  maples, 
now  thick  with  summer  foliage,  almost  hid  the 
house,  the  faint  odor  of  lilacs  and  syringas 
greeted  him ;  the  two  oval  panes  over  the  front 
door  gleamed  like  two  wide-open  eyes,  but  no 
white-clad  girl  sat  on  the  porch.  Instead,  from 
out  the  house  issued  a  medley  of  voices  chat- 
ting and  laughing,  quite  oblivious  of  a  listener. 
He  did  not  catch  what  was  said,  and  did  not 
try,  and  as  he  advanced  again  the  tinkling  of 
a  piano  began,  and  some  one  started  singing. 
It  sounded  like  Angie's  voice,  and  then  others 
joined  in  one  of  the  old  songs,  well  remembered 
by  him.  It  was  "  In  the  Sweet  Summer  Time, 
Long  Ago,"  and  many  a  time  had  he  been  the 
sole  audience  while  Angie  sang  it.  And  now 


Il6  THE   HERMIT 

once  more  laughter  and  voices,  two  of  them 
certainly  masculine  and  while  he  halted  again 
in  shadow,  he  heard  how  — 

"  In  an  ivy-covered  cottage, 

Hidden  back  by  oaken  trees, 
Lived  a  little  maiden 

Blithe  and  happy  as  you  please. 
There  upon  a  low  veranda 

Every  summer  eventide, 
I  sit  among  the  flowers, 

Fair  Camelia  by  my  side." 

It  was  all  very  sweet  and  charming,  and  doubt- 
less the  young  men  who  were  joining  Angie 
in  the  old-time  ballad  enjoyed  it,  but  somehow 
Martin  didn't.  He  wasn't  sitting  amid  flowers 
with  a  "sweet  Camelia "  by  his  side  —  and 
what  made  it  worse,  another  man  was  in  his  old- 
time  place.  If  Angie  had  been  pining  for  him 
all  these  years,  it  hadn't  affected  her  spirits 
to  a  serious  extent  Then,  as  another  burst 
of  low  laughter  reached  him,  he  moved  on. 

A  little  gathering  of  friends  were  doubtless 
enjoying  a  call  at  Angie's,  and  he  was  not  one 
of  them.  More  than  that,  it  began  to  dawn 
upon  him  that  now,  upon  his  return  to  the 


ILLUSION   AND   REALITY  117 

scenes  of  his  youth,  he  was  likely  to  find  him- 
self forgotten.  At  the  head  of  the  street  he 
paused  again,  looking  across  the  Mizzy  to 
where  the  home  of  David  Curtis  stood.  There 
was  no  light  or  laughter  here  issuing  forth,  in- 
stead the  house  was  silent,  solemn,  and  appar- 
ently empty,  while  the  low  rumble  of  the 
Mizzy  falls,  now  close  by,  was  the  only  sound. 
For  a  moment  only  Martin  paused,  his  spirits 
at  low  tide,  and  then  retraced  his  steps. 

Reaching  Aunt  Comfort's  again,  he  halted. 
The  callers  were  still  there,  voices  and  laughter 
still  issuing,  and  the  two  wide-open  eyes  over 
the  front  door  now  seemed  to  glare  at  him  in 
derision. 

A  stranger  in  the  village  of  his  youth  —  there 
was  not  one  there  who  thought  of  his  existence ! 

Even  Angie,  once  all  in  all  to  him,  was,  or 
had  just  been,  joining  her  voice  with  another 
man's. 

Then,  as  he  moved  on,  how  the  old  memories 
returned  !  One  by  one,  like  the  quick  flashing 
views  of  a  stereopticon,  they  sped  by  —  the  many 
evenings  he  had  sat  on  that  same  porch  with 
Angie,  the  lingerings  at  the  gate  when  the  moon- 


Il8  THE   HERMIT 

light  fell  checkered  through  the  maples,  the 
summer  evening  rides  along  lonely  and  shaded 
roads,  the  winter  nights  when  the  snow  gleamed 
white  and  the  bells  jingled,  the  barn  dances 
when  their  feet  and  hearts  kept  happy  time  to 
the  music  of  the  fiddle,  the  huskings,  the  spel- 
ling schools,  and  always  the  home-coming  to  this 
one  sacred  dwelling,  to  repeat  the  parting  again 
and  again,  and  then  to  walk  —  no  —  float  away 
on  air ! 

And  now,  when  this  dream  had  become  only 
a  charming  memory  of  the  long  ago,  he  had 
returned  to  find  her  who  had  inspired  it,  sing- 
ing with  others  and  doubtless  oblivious  to 
whether  he  was  dead  or  alive. 

It  was  all  the  silliest  sort  of  nonsense  then, 
of  course,  and  foolish  to  try  to  recall  it  now ; 
and  yet,  as  Martin  did,  it  seemed  that  to  feel 
the  same  boyish  happiness  and  live  once  more 
in  the  same  fairy  palace  built  of  moonshine 
and  filled  with  delusion,  would  be  cheap  at  the 
cost  of  all  the  years  that  intervened. 

When  he,  somewhat  saddened  by  these  by- 
gones, and  not  at  all  sure  that  his  return  to 
Greenvale  was  wise,  reached  the  doctor's 


ILLUSION   AND    REALITY  119 

home,  to  find  it  occupied  now,  the  greeting  that 
followed  seemed  doubly  welcome. 

"  It's  all  my  fault,"  admitted  Martin,  in 
response  to  Dr.  Sol's  profuse  explanations, 
"  and  after  all,  the  hour's  stroll  gave  me  a  little 
pleasure,  for  I  passed  Aunt  Comfort's  and 
heard  Angie  singing  some  of  the  old  songs. 
She  has  a  piano  now,  I  judge." 

"Why  didn't  you  call?"  queried  the  doctor, 
with  a  laugh ;  "  she  knows  you're  coming,  and 
it  wouldn't  have  surprised  her." 

But  Martin  answered  not,  for  to  admit  the 
facts  would  expose  him  to  the  doctor's  raillery. 

Then  they  sat  down  to  a  social  chat,  the 
doctor's  wife  insisting  that  Martin  relate  his 
side  of  that  wonderful  trip  into  the  wilderness 
and  the  discovery  of  both  wild  man  and  her- 
mit, and  after  that  the  doctor  recounted  changes 
that  had  taken  place  in  Greenvale  since  Martin 
had  left  it. 

One  story  more,  especially  pertinent  to  this 
narrative,  was  told  by  the  doctor,  and  must  be 
quoted. 

"  I  suppose  you  remember  old  David  Curtis," 
he  said,  "  and  how  he  treated  his  brother  Amzi  ? 


120  THE   HERMIT 

Well,  the  old  miser  has  almost  reached  his 
dotage,  and  they  say  his  conscience  is  begin- 
ning to  trouble  him.  I  've  always  doubted  he 
had  any,  but  the  men  who  work  in  his  mill 
and  board  with  him  say  he  imagines  the  prem- 
ises have  become  haunted  and  hears  things  at 
night.  He  certainly  looks  more  dried  up  and 
careworn  than  ever.  Then  there  is  a  deal  of 
concern  here  as  to  what  he  will  do  with  his 
property  when  he  passes  on  ;  you  know,  I 
suppose,  that  your  old  flame  Angie  is  next  of 
kin,  and  if  he  makes  no  will,  she  inherits 
all." 

"  I  recall  the  stories  of  how  he  abused  his 
brother,"  responded  Martin,  "  and  Amzi's 
mysterious  disappearance.  I  used  to  half  ex- 
pect to  find  his  bones  in  Misery  Swamp  some 
day  when  I  set  traps  there.  Has  no  trace  of 
him  ever  been  found  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  doubt  if  there  ever  will  be. 
Old  Cy  Walker  —  you  remember  him  —  says 
he  met  a  man  in  the  woods  above  the  falls 
about  ten  years  ago,  who  resembled  Amzi, 
and  some  believe  it  was  he,  and  that  he  will 
return  some  day." 


ILLUSION   AND   REALITY  121 

"  And  there  was  no  settlement  of  his  estate," 
put  in  Martin,  as  the  old  story  returned  to 
him,  "  and  didn't  Angie  receive  anything 
finally  ? " 

"  Not  a  penny.  David  claimed  Amzi  owed 
him  more  than  his  personal  estate  was  worth, 
and  all  realty  reverted  to  him  at  Amzi's  death, 
so  Angie  received  nothing.  Aunt  Comfort,  as 
you  know,  brought  her  up.  There's  one  curious 
fact  about  the  matter,"  added  the  doctor,  after 
a  pause,  "and  that  is,  never,  since  Amzi's  dis- 
appearance, has  David  sold  a  foot  of  land." 

For  a  few  moments  Martin  pondered  on  this 
curious  complication  in  silence.  He  had,  as  a 
boy,  heard  something  about  it,  but  it  did  not 
then  interest  him. 

"What  about  the  dower  right  of  Angie's 
mother  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly  ;  "  no  will  could 
rob  her  child  of  that." 

"You  must  ask  Aunt  Comfort,"  responded 
the  doctor,  smiling,  "and  yet,  I'd  advise  you 
not  to.  It's  a  tender  subject  with  her,  and 
never  spoken  of." 

Then  other  bits  of  village  history  were  re- 
counted by  the  doctor,  and  Squire  Phinney, 


122  THE  HERMIT 

Aunt  Lorey,  Parson  Jones,  old  Cy  Walker  and 
dozens  of  others,  once  well  known  by  Martin, 
were  spoken  of. 

"  I  must  hunt  up  old  Cy  to-morrow,"  asserted 
Martin  as  the  talk  ended,  "  and  get  him  to  take 
me  fishing.  He  used  to  know  where  all  the 
best  holes  were." 

And  thus  Martin  came  in  touch  once  more 
with  Greenvale's  quiet  life,  and  when  he  was 
shown  into  the  doctor's  best  front  room,  it 
seemed  as  if  his  absence  had  been  only  months 
instead  of  years. 

One  incident  of  this  first  evening  —  or  rather 
query  —  kept  recurring,  even  after  he  sought 
his  pillow :  To  whom  belonged  the  male  voice 
which  joined  Angle's  in  the  old  songs,  and  was 
he  a  frequent  and  welcome  visitor  there  ? 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AFTER    MANY    YEARS 

IF  there  was  one  thing  Aunt  Comfort  de- 
lighted in  more  than  another,  it  was  "arbs." 

Every  summer  and  fall  her  capacious  garret 
was  stocked  with  them,  and  great  clusters  of 
thoroughwort,  hoarhound,  boneset,  spearmint, 
pennyroyal,  and  coltsfoot,  duly  labelled,  were 
hung  up,  together  with  bunches  of  sarsaparilla, 
sassafras,  burdock,  elderberry,  and  dog-fennel 
roots,  and  bags  of  lobelia  beans.  These,  it  may 
be  said,  were  her  great  specifics,  whether  it  was 
Nezer  taken  with  cramps,  Hannah  with  "  yaller 
janders,"  old  Cy  with  "rheumatis,"  or  any  one 
else  Aunt  Comfort  was  privileged  to  dose. 

Every  spring,  at  house-cleaning  time,  Aunt 
Comfort  threw  out  the  old  "  arbs "  to  be  re- 
placed by  new,  and  in  the  fall  the  roots  were 
also  renewed.  In  fact,  her  best  black  silk, 
always  wrapped  in  a  sheet  and  hung  in  a  closet, 
123 


124  THE   HERMIT 

and  her  best  "  bunnit "  received  no  more  solici- 
tous care  than  her  annual  store  of  "arbs." 
Neither  was  her  dosing  proclivity  confined  to 
her  own  family ;  but  if  a  neighbor  was  known 
to  be  in  the  least  "  ailin',"  Aunt  Comfort  was 
on  hand  in  no  time,  and  she  knew  "  just  what 
was  good  for  *t." 

As  may  be  surmised,  Dr.  Sol  did  not 
relish  her  encroachments  on  his  calling,  but 
he  was  a  natural-born  diplomat,  and  many  a 
time  he  would  go  to  Aunt  Comfort  and  ask  for 
a  small  bunch  of  boneset  or  handful  of  sassa- 
fras roots  to  use  later,  and  then  drop  them  by 
the  roadside.  As  a  result  she  always  praised 
Dr.  Sol,  and  assured  the  neighbors  he  "  knew 
his  callin'." 

In  pursuance  of  her  regular  custom  when 
certain  "  arbs "  were  ready  for  gathering,  she 
had,  on  this  pleasant  Saturday  morning,  spent 
by  Martin  in  fishing,  gone  with  Angie,  and 
Nezer  to  carry  the  basket,  on  an  excursion  over 
the  hillsides  and  into  the  woods  overlooking 
Greenvale,  and  was  just  returning. 

Nezer,  on  ahead,  halted  now  and  then  to 
shy  a  stone  at  a  bird  or  squirrel,  Aunt 


AFTER   MANY  YEARS  125 

Comfort  was  waddling  along,  and  Angle 
carried  an  umbrella  for  a  sunshade,  when 
Martin  came  in  sight. 

"  I  vum,  I  do  believe  it's  Martin  Frisbie," 
exclaimed  Aunt  Comfort,  in  a  tone  of  delight ; 
"  I  heered  this  mornin'  he'd  come." 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ? "  answered  Angie,  coolly, 
and  secretly  nettled  at  Aunt  Comfort's  tone ; 
"no  one  here  is  likely  to  drop  dead  on  that 
account." 

The  fact  is,  Angie  had  heard  so  much 
about  Martin,  how  rich  he  was  in  comparison 
to  other  Greenvaleites  and  what  an  event  his 
return  to  Greenvale  was  likely  to  be,  in  the 
past  two  weeks,  that  she  was  prepared  to  dis- 
like him  at  sight.  Dr.  Sol,  Aunt  Comfort, 
and  several  of  the  gossip-loving  neighbors  had 
also  reminded  her  of  what  she  wished  to  forget. 
Then  she  also  fancied  he  would  be  self-con- 
scious of  his  importance,  and  deport  himself 
as  if  he  expected  the  village  to  bow  down 
before  him  at  sight.  She  was  sure  that  she 
would  not  —  in  fact,  had  fully  determined  that 
when  she  did  meet  him,  he  would  be  made  to 
know  at  once  there  was  one  to  whom  his 


126  THE   HERMIT 

coming  and  wealth  were  matters  of  perfect 
indifference. 

Like  all  her  sex  she  was  a  little  curious, 
however,  and  as  he  drew  near,  she  noted 
with  feminine  eyes  every  detail  of  dress  and 
manner. 

"  Why,  bless  me ! "  he  exclaimed,  coming 
up  and  removing  his  hat  as  he  extended  his 
hand,  "if  this  isn't  Aunt  Comfort,  good- 
natured  as  ever;  and  Angie,  how  are  you, 
too  ? ''  And  perforce  she  had  to  take  the 
hand  he  offered,  though  the  "  How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Frisbie  ? "  in  return  was  entirely  dignified. 

"Well,"  he  continued  rapidly,  "I  suppose 
you  heard  I  arrived  last  night  and  spent  the 
evening  tramping  around  to  kill  time?  It 
was  a  good  joke  on  me,  for  I  forgot  to  write 
the  doctor,  and  he  was  out." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  asserted  Aunt 
Comfort,  "you  look  nat'r'l.  I  knew  ye  the 
minute  I  sot  eyes  on  ye."  And  she  beamed 
upon  him  —  in  fact,  she  beamed  upon  every 
one. 

But  Angie  was  silent,  quite  willing  her  aunt 
should  do  the  talking. 


AFTER   MANY   YEARS  1 27 

"  I  made  an  early  start  for  my  old  favorite 
trout  brook,"  added  Martin,  pleasantly,  glanc- 
ing at  Angle's  impassive  face,  "and  didn't 
recognize  it  when  I  found  it,  it  has  grown  so 
small.  I  presume  I'll  find  lots  of  other 
changes." 

He  came  near  relating  how  he  had  stood 
for  half  an  hour  in  front  of  Aunt  Comfort's 
home  and  asking  Angie  if  she  were  not 
singing,  but  somehow  her  reception  chilled 
the  impulse.  Then,  after  replying  to  a  few 
more  cordial  questions  from  Aunt  Comfort 
and  thanking  her  for  her  urgent  invitation  to 
call,  he  once  more  raised  his  hat  and  passed 
on. 

And  this  was  his  unromantic  meeting  again, 
with  her  whom  he  had  worshipped  when  a 
callow  youth,  and  who  was  destined  to  mete 
out  to  him  more  humiliation  and  heartache 
than  all  else  in  his  life  before. 

"  Rather  cool,"  he  muttered  to  himself  when 
out  of  earshot,  "but  she  hasn't  changed  much. 
Fits  her  dress  a  little  better,  but  same  bright 
eyes  and  cherry  mouth.  Wonder  who  was 
singing  with  her ! " 


128  THE   HERMIT 

And  as  he  now  wandered  aimlessly  over  the 
old  farm,  finding,  as  he  expected,  dilapidation, 
neglect,  and  makeshift  everywhere  —  meadows 
choked  with  bushes,  fences  rotted  and  rebuilt 
by  felling  saplings,  ploughs  and  tools  left  to 
rust  in  fields,  barns  awry  and  full  of  holes, 
and  worst  of  all,  the  house  brown  from  lack 
of  paint,  with  rags  for  missing  window-panes, 
it  made  him  sick  at  heart.  Then,  too,  the 
memories  of  bygone  days,  when  youth  and 
new  ambitions  were  just  becoming  motive 
forces,  and  Angie  in  her  sweet  girlish  way 
was  sharing  them,  returned ;  and  as  in  his 
wanderings  he  came  once  more  to  the  brook 
that  had  been  his  boyhood  delight,  it  seemed 
to  mock  him  with  its  chatter  and  insist  how 
foolish  he  had  been  to  expect  happiness  in 
wealth-gathering  solely. 

In  some  intangible  manner,  Angie  too  had 
conveyed  to  him  the  impression  that  the  silli- 
ness of  her  youth  was  dead  and  buried  for- 
ever, and  that  any  reference  to  it  would  meet 
a  rebuff.  She  had  said  very  little,  having 
merely  spoken  and  looked  at  him  in  a  per- 
fectly courteous  and  calm  manner,  her  brown 


AFTER  MANY  YEARS  129 

eyes  curious  only,  her  rounded  cheeks  guilt- 
less of  extra  color,  and  yet  there  was  a  poise 
and  air  about  her  that  said  louder  than  words : 
"  You  and  your  coming  are  nothing  to  me. 
Do  not  seek  to  recall  the  foolishness  of  our 
childhood  by  word  or  act." 

This  much  came  to  him  as  he  sat  by  the 
brook  that,  like  a  symbol  of  life,  was  forever 
running  away,  and  when  he  returned  to  dinner, 
he  was  in  a  morose  mood. 

"  If  it  wasn't  midsummer,"  he  said  to  Dr. 
Sol,  "  I'd  bounce  that  lazy  Bates  out  of  the 
old  house  in  short  order.  I've  looked  the 
farm  over  and  it  makes  me  sick." 

It  is  likely  he  would  have  been  in  a  worse 
mood  had  he  heard  the  comment  made  by 
Angie  after  their  meeting. 

"I  think,  auntie,"  she  said,  "that  Mr.  Frisbie 
must  have  expected  all  Greenvale  would  be 
at  the  doctor's  when  he  arrived,  and  he 
probably  wonders  why  we  don't  follow  him 
about  and  condole  with  him  because  things 
have  changed.  He  said  he  supposed  we  had 
heard  of  his  arrival,  and  we  have  —  at  least  I 
have,  with  repeats  and  foot-notes.  He  must 


130  THE   HERMIT 

think  nobody  but  himself  in  the  world  ever 
got  rich.  He  ought  to  wear  a  card  on  his 
coat  with  '  I  am  Martin  Frisbie,  and  worth 
money,'  printed  on  it." 

"  If  you  don't  cotten  to  him,  Stella  Phinney 
or  some  other  gal  will,  you  can  make  sure," 
responded  Aunt  Comfort,  sagely,  and  in  a  tone 
of  reprimand.  "  Young  men  worth  money  are 
skeerce  here,  V  gals  ain't  all  holdin'  their 
noses  any  higher  'n'  need  on.  You  might  at 
least  'a'  been  civil  to  him  'n'  told  him  you  was 
glad  to  see  him." 

Then  Angie  laughed.  To  her  Aunt  Com- 
fort was  as  transparent  as  glass. 

There  is  many  a  truth  uttered  in  jest,  and 
many  a  heartache  concealed  beneath  a  sar- 
casm, and  Angie's  sneer  must  not  be  taken 
as  an  index  of  her  feelings  toward  her  youth- 
ful lover. 

She  was  prepared  for  and  did  meet  him 
with  polite  indifference,  but  beneath  it  lay  a 
sense  of  injustice  and  a  bit  of  the  old-time 
pain  that  no  one,  not  even  Aunt  Comfort, 
suspected. 


CHAPTER   XV 

BOYHOOD    MEMORIES 

LIVING  over  bygones  is  about  as  consoling 
as  an  epitaph  in  a  cemetery,  as  Martin  learned 
when  he  set  about  a  business  examination  of 
the  old  farm.  He  had  returned  to  Green  vale 
with  a  vague  idea  of  remaining  there,  if  Angie 
had  not  forgotten,  and  still  smiled  upon  him ; 
then,  if  certain  possibilities  came  about,  to 
build  a  modern  house  on  the  site  of  the  old 
homestead  now  owned  by  him,  and  for  amuse- 
ment to  establish  a  trout  preserve.  It  was  all 
a  nebulous  plan,  and  somehow  his  first  even- 
ing's experience  and  later  meeting  with  Angie 
had  partially  dispelled  that.  A  few  years  had 
wrought  great  changes  —  her  old  fondness  for 
him  had  vanished,  and  he  feared  that  he  was 
almost  forgotten.  It  was  not  pleasant,  nor 
what  he  had  secretly  hoped,  and  yet  it 
seemed  a  fact. 


132  THE   HERMIT 

His  early  haunts  that  he  now  visited  for 
the  first  time  since  his  return  also  read  him 
a  lesson  of  change  and  bitter-sweet  memory. 
There  was  the  old  house,  so  shocking  in  its 
rack-and-ruin  condition,  the  woodshed  where 
he  used  to  hide  his  fish  poles  and  traps,  and 
beside  it  the  old  pear  tree.  The  woodshed 
seemed  a  mere  coop  now,  and  he  smiled  at 
sight  of  that  grindstone  he  used  so  to  abhor. 
Old  memories  might  be  saddening,  as  they 
were,  but  at  least  he  was  not  likely  to  be 
called  upon  to  "  turn  grin'  stun  "  again  until 
his  back  seemed  broken. 

Then  came  the  garden,  with  its  low  wall 
hid  by  grape-vines,  where  he,  with  vexed  spirit, 
had  been  made  to  pull  pusley,  year  after  year, 
and  always,  it  seemed,  when  he  wanted  to  go 
fishing.  Here  he  had  usually  dug  for  angle- 
worms—  a  pleasanter  occupation;  and  when 
midsummer  came,  how  good  those  crisp  green 
cucumbers  used  to  taste !  Beyond  was  the 
apple  orchard,  and,  as  he  entered  it  again, 
one  tree,  to  which  he  had  many  times  been 
sent  to  cut  sprouts  to  be  used  later  on,  on 
himself,  caught  his  attention.  It  was  old  and 


BOYHOOD   MEMORIES  133 

almost  dead  now,  but  a  few  of  just  such 
slender  whips,  as  mother  had  used  around  his 
bare  legs  with  such  cheering  effect,  still  grew 
from  its  trunk.  And  what  a  delight  it  had 
been,  in  the  mellow  autumn,  to  shake  those 
trees  and  pick  up  apples,  and  when  the  cart 
was  filled,  to  ride  on  it  to  the  cider-mill  and 
"holler"  to  the  patient  oxen.  And  then  the 
cider  making !  How  vividly  that  picture  re- 
turned !  The  old  horse  walking  slowly  around 
pulling  the  sweep,  the  many-colored  apples 
disappearing  in  the  hopper,  the  men-folks 
heaping  dripping  pumice  on  the  press,  and 
when  the  cider  began  to  run,  how  delicious 
it  tasted  through  a  straw! 

Angie  used  to  come  here  with  other  girls, 
on  their  way  from  school,  and  how  pretty 
she  used  to  look  in  her  calico  sunbonnet, 
her  hair  in  one  long  braid  falling  in  her  way 
as  she  stooped  over  to  suck  cider  out  of 
the  little  rill  that  ran  around  the  press.  Mar- 
tin recalled  how  he  used  to  keep  a  bunch  of 
nice  white  straws  hid  away,  waiting  for  her, 
and  when  she  appeared,  his  heart  used  to  beat 
a  little  faster. 


134  THE   HERMIT 

It  was  all  a  delightful  memory,  that  apple 
gathering  and  cider  making,  and  he  always 
regretted  when  its  season  was  over. 

And  now  he  wandered  up  to  the  brook 
running  through  the  old  farm,  —  the  one  he 
was  planning  to  utilize  for  trout  raising,  —  and 
as  he  followed  its  leaping,  laughing  course, 
he  paused  to  look  into  every  eddying  pool 
and  at  each  little  cascade.  There  was  one 
deep  hole  below  the  abutments  of  a  wooden 
road  bridge,  shaded  by  a  willow,  and  here 
he  halted  longest,  for  here  he  had  caught 
his  first  trout.  It  was  only  a  little  one,  yet 
never  since,  among  the  thousands  of  big  ones 
he  had  landed  from  lake  or  stream,  was  one 
that  thrilled  to  his  very  finger-tips  as  that 
one  had. 

And  what  a  change  in  the  stream  itself ! 
Then  this  pool  appeared  deep,  dark,  and  dan- 
gerous ;  now  he  could  wade  across  it  with 
impunity,  and  the  brook  seemed  a  mere  rill. 
Above  this  it  ran  through  a  pasture  where 
laurel  grew  and  where  he  used  to  set  a  box- 
trap  for  rabbits.  This,  also,  was  good  arbutus 
ground,  and  over  it  and  along  the  bordering 


BOYHOOD   MEMORIES  135 

woods  he  and  Angle  had  come  many  times, 
gathering  those  fragrant  flowers.  The  laurel 
was  now  in  full  bloom,  and  great  clusters, 
some  pink,  some  white,  surrounded  him ;  but 
he  was  alone,  and  the  happy  days  when  he 
and  she  together,  and  sometimes  hand  in 
hand,  wandered  about  here,  seemed  so  long 
ago.  He  wondered  if  she  would  come  here 
now  with  him,  and  if  she  did,  would  it  seem 
to  either  as  it  did  then  ?  And  now  he  recalled 
the  recent  first  meeting  again,  and  her  cool 
reception,  so  disappointing,  and  then  the  old- 
time  youthful  idyl  seemed  longer  ago  than 
ever.  Life  had  swept  him,  and  doubtless  her, 
far  beyond  the  old  sweet  romance,  and  like 
the  withered  autumn  leaves  he  now  found 
crumbling  to  dust  beside  rocks,  so  were  those 
old-time  memories  doomed. 

But  he  still  followed  the  brook,  whose 
laughter  mocked  his  mood,  until  deep  in  the 
swamp  where  he  had  set  traps  and  snares  for 
partridges,  it  became  lost  in  a  tangle  of  alders. 
Then  back  again,  in  melancholy  frame  of  mind, 
he  retraced  his  steps  over  pasture,  meadow, 
and  field,  to  where  the  Mizzy  flowed  deep 


136  THE   HERMIT 

and  still.  This  he  crossed  on  an  old  red 
bridge,  also  fraught  with  tender  memories, 
and  passed  down  the  by-road  to  the  school- 
house,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  "Two  Old 
Cat,"  "  Pump  Peterway,"  kissing-games  under 
an  old  apple  tree  with  Angie  in  the  ring,  and 
awful  fright  when  examination  day  and  speak- 
ing pieces  came.  It  looked  the  same  as  then, 
only  worse.  More  initials  were  carved  on  the 
brown  boards,  and  the  surrounding  bushes 
hemmed  it  in  a  little  closer. 

And  as  Martin  paused,  looking  at  it,  he 
wondered  if  he  were  the  same  boy  who  had 
come  there  day  after  day,  creeping  slowly  in 
to  study  and  storming  out  to  play.  And  what 
would  Angie  say  if  she  stood  beside  him 
now,  looking  at  the  empty  schoolhouse,  with 
not  a  dwelling  in  sight  and  only  the  birds 
singing  in  the  gnarled  old  apple  trees,  and 
the  sun  shining  over  all  ?  Would  even  these 
old  memories  recall  aught  of  mutual  heart 
interest,  and  brush  away  the  cool  reserve  she 
had  met  him  with? 

He  had  grown  up  with  her,  as  it  were,  then 
the  simple  singling  out  of  one  another,  the 


BOYHOOD   MEMORIES  137 

quarrels  and  make-ups  adding  fuel,  and  later 
the  keeping  company,  the  walks  home  from 
spelling  school  and  meeting,  the  flower  hunting, 
summer  drives  in  shady  woods,  winter  sleigh- 
rides,  sparking  in  Aunt  Comfort's  parlor,  and 
all  the  silly  nothings,  so  momentous  then.  With 
the  ambition  of  young  manhood,  he  had  turned 
away  from  all  such  foolishness,  forgetting  it  in 
the  busy  world ;  then  in  the  stillness  of  a  wilder- 
ness camp  it  had  returned  with  insidious  force, 
almost  compelling  thought  and  action,  until  now, 
when  looking  once  again  into  the  eyes  of  her 
who  wrought  this  old-time  spell,  they  met  his 
without  response.  Truly,  a  woman's  heart  was 
as  transitory  as  the  wind,  and  first  love  as  short 
lived  as  early  violets.  He  almost  wished  he  had 
not  returned  to  Greenvale,  and  all  his  fond  illu- 
sions were  fast  vanishing.  More  than  all  this, 
it  was  evident  Angie  had  outgrown  hers,  and 
was  quite  happy  and  content  without  him. 

And  now  as  he  retraced  his  steps  toward  the 
village  after  a  morning  of  gloomy  memories,  it 
seemed  as  if  fate  meant  to  be  kind,  for  just 
ahead  he  espied  Angie  entering  the  by-road 
from  a  pasture.  She  wore  the  same  broad  sun 


138  THE   HERMIT 

hat  of  the  day  before,  carried  a  pail,  and  had 
evidently  been  after  berries. 

With  quick  steps  Martin  had  almost  reached 
her,  when  she  halted  and  faced  about. 

"  Why,  how  you  scared  me !  "  she  exclaimedj 
looking  relieved. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  responded,  smiling  and  rais- 
ing his  hat,  "and  yet,  I'm  glad.  I've  been  on 
a  tour  over  my  old  haunts,  ending  at  the  school- 
house,  and  thinking  of  you." 

"You  find  things  changed,  I  presume,"  she 
answered  coolly,  now  herself  and  ignoring  his 
reference. 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.  Everything  seems  to 
have  grown  smaller,  including  the  old  school- 
house.  That  seemed  a  mere  turkey  coop.  You 
have  been  after  berries,  I  see,"  he  added,  as  she 
made  no  reply  to  this. 

"  Why,  yes,"  flashing  a  curious  look  at  him, 
"  country  girls  always  go  after  berries,  rake  hay, 
and  drive  the  cows,  and  I'm  still  a  country  girl, 
you  see." 

Martin  laughed.  "  I  hear  you  are  also  a 
schoolma'am  now,"  he  rejoined,  thinking  it  wise 
to  change  the  subject ;  "  where  do  you  teach  ? " 


BOYHOOD   MEMORIES  139 

"  In  the  same  '  turkey  coop  '  you  just  visited," 
she  answered,  smiling. 

"  Why,  that's  where  we  used  to  go  to  school 
together;  that's  funny."  Then,  as  she  made 
no  response,  he  continued  :  "  I've  been  all  over 
the  old  farm,  and  up  through  the  laurel  pasture 
where  we  used  to  gather  arbutus,  and  back  by 
the  old  cider-mill.  It  made  me  feel  like  a  boy 
again." 

"That  was  pleasant,"  she  replied  in  a  lack- 
interest  tone ;  "  are  you  thinking  of  becoming  a 
farmer  again  ? " 

"  Hardly,"  —  a  little  piqued  at  her  coolness ; 
"  I've  a  notion,  though,  of  building  a  dam  on  the 
farm  and  raising  trout.  That's  been  a  hobby  of 
mine  for  many  years.  Do  you  enjoy  teaching 
school,  Angie  ? "  he  asked  suddenly,  realizing 
that  old  memories  and  his  plans  failed  to  in- 
terest her. 

"  Why,  yes,  until  winter  comes.  It's  quite  a 
long  walk." 

A  pause,  an  inflection,  a  mere  shading  of  tone 
will  give  a  keen  observer  the  key  to  another's 
feelings,  and  Martin,  as  he  glanced  down  at  the 
shapely,  calico-clad  girl  beside  him,  read  her 


140  THE   HERMIT 

thoughts,  and  saw  her  life  as  it  was  in  an  in- 
stant. They  had  been  as  youthful  lovers,  all  in 
all  to  one  another,  parting  with  fond  promises, 
—  he  apparently  to  forget  his,  and  she  to  con- 
tinue her  simple  life  as  pure  and  open  as  the 
brook  he  had  that  day  followed.  And  now  on 
his  return,  she  would  not,  even  by  allusion  to 
old  associations,  admit  they  had  ever  been  aught 
to  one  another.  Had  she  wished  to  renew  the 
old  ties,  or  awaken  his  interest  again,  he  had 
given  her  ample  chance,  and  yet  she  ignored  it. 
It  was  pride  of  the  most  indomitable  sort,  and 
while  it  hurt,  he  felt  like  taking  off  his  hat  to  it. 
Then,  as  the  history  of  her  life,  as  related  by 
Dr.  Sol,  returned  to  him  on  the  instant, —  her 
heritage  kept  from  her,  a  dependent  on  Aunt 
Comfort  and  obliged  to  walk  a  mile  to  and  from 
that  by-road  schoolhouse  each  day,  year  after 
year,  to  earn  a  pittance,  —  the  pathos  of  it  all 
smote  him.  He  could  buy  half  the  village  and 
have  money  left,  and  she  whom  he  had  many 
times  held  close  in  his  arms,  and  to  whom  he 
had  whispered  loving  words,  was  walking  beside 
him  gowned  in  faded  calico  and  wearing  worn- 
out  shoes. 


BOYHOOD   MEMORIES  141 

Worse  than  that,  from  his  viewpoint,  now 
that  he  had  returned,  anxious  to  atone  for 
years  of  neglect  and  renew  the  old  lovership, 
she  would  not  even  admit  that  it  ever  existed. 

"Angie,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "I 
came  near  calling  on  you  the  evening  I 
arrived.  The  doctor  was  out  and  I  walked 
up  to  your  house,  but  heard  singing,  and  con- 
cluded you  had  callers." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing ;  "  you  are  not  bashful,  are  you  ? " 

"  No,  but  I  didn't  feel  like  intruding.  I 
stood  under  the  maples,  however,  and  enjoyed 
your  singing  a  few  moments." 

But  even  this  brought  no  response,  and 
fully  conscious  now  that  she  intended  to  avoid 
all  reference  to  old  memories,  he  began  speak- 
ing of  his  plans  for  trout  raising. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ? "  she  asked  pleas- 
antly, when  the  house  was  reached;  "Aunt 
Comfort  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  answered  in  the  same 
tone,  "not  now."  And,  raising  his  hat,  he 
turned  away. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

SUNDAY    IN    GREENVALE 

ORIGINALLY,  a  strict  observance  of  the  Lord's 
Day  began  in  Greenvale  at  sundown  Saturday, 
and  became  a  twenty-four  hours  of  penance. 
No  cooking  was  supposed  to  be  done,  no 
chores  except  imperative  ones,  long  prayers 
were  repeated  night  and  morning  by  the 
heads  of  the  families,  two  lengthy  sermons  by 
the  orthodox  parson,  each  extending  to  "  seven- 
teenthly,"  then  to  "finally,"  and  "in  conclu- 
sion," occupied  most  of  the  day.  To  the 
young  it  was  a  long,  solemn  period  of  gloom 
from  sun  to  sun,  and  if  a  boy  was  detected 
near  a  brook,  or  caught  cracking  a  nut,  merci- 
less punishment  followed. 

When  the  first  bell  sounded  at  nine  o'clock, 
all  (unless  sick)  were  supposed  to  get  ready, 
those  at  a  distance  came  in  all  manner  of 
142 


SUNDAY   IN   GREENVALE  143 

conveyances,  left  lined  up  in  the  long  row  of 
sheds  back  of  the  church.  At  ten  o'clock 
the  second  bell  was  rung,  when  all  were 
expected  to  be  in  their  seats  and  a  penitent 
frame  of  mind. 

If  a  late-arriving  farmer  entered,  tiptoeing 
down  the  aisle  in  tallowed,  but  squeaking 
boots,  all  turned,  frowning  at  him,  and  when 
the  last  note  of  the  tolling  bell  died  away  and 
the  parson  arose  in  the  tall  pulpit,  the  solem- 
nity was  so  dense  that  it  could  be  felt. 

Then  came  a  short  prayer,  a  hymn  read  in 
full  but  abbreviated  a  little  by  "  Please  omit 
the  third  and  fifth  stanzas,"  and  droned  in  long 
metre  by  the  assembled  sufferers,  and  after 
that  the  long  prayer  in  which  the  worthy  par- 
son not  only  recited  what  the  Lord's  plans 
were,  but  his  theories  in  reference  to  them, 
together  with  a  surfeit  of  advice.  At  last 
"  Amen  "  was  reached  and  then  came  a  general 
clearing  of  throats. 

At  this  juncture  the  old  ladies  usually  nibbled 
fennel  or  flagroot. 

Of  the  sermon  that  followed,  also  in  long 
metre,  the  least  said  the  better.  Few  under- 


144  THE  HERMIT 

stood  it  as  anything  pertinent  to  their  daily 
lives  or  followed  it  beyond  "tenthly,"  and  when 
the  inevitable  collection,  closing  hymn,  and 
benediction  ended  the  two  hours  of  gloom,  the 
young  people  at  least  were  glad  to  escape. 

The  congregation  had  been  assured  and 
proof  offered  that  God  created  humanity  ex- 
pecting and  intending  to  damn  all  who  did  not 
believe  in  the  true  and  only  orthodox  creed ; 
that  all  other  creeds  were  heresies  and  their 
followers  sure  to  flounder  in  burning  brim- 
stone; that  unbaptized  babes,  and  all  nations 
that  were  heathen,  would  eventually  be  rele- 
gated to  the  fiery  furnace  and  the  worm  that 
never  dies ;  and,  worse  than  that,  told  in  solemn 
and  sepulchral  tones  that  wife,  child,  father  or 
mother,  brother  or  sister,  who  did  not  come 
into  this,  the  only  true  fold,  and  accept  this, 
the  only  true  gospel  and  salvation,  would  also 
be  damned  forever. 

Later,  another  creed  known  as  Unitarian 
secured  a  small  following  in  Greenvale,  who 
erected  a  modest  church  which  flourished  mea- 
grely a  few  years  and  then  disbanded  in  debt. 
In  time  also  the  rigid  Calvinism  and  strict 


SUNDAY  IN  GREEN  VALE        145 

Sunday  observance  slowly  merged  into  a  grow- 
ing indifference.  Many  of  the  younger  genera- 
tion failed  of  conversion,  and  when  Martin 
Frisbie  accompanied  Dr.  Sol  and  his  wife  to 
the  sanctuary  the  first  Sunday  after  his  return, 
not  more  than  half  who  gathered  there  were 
members. 

As  he  expected,  Martin  was  stared  at  slyly, 
and  when  services  were  over,  a  few  of  the 
elderly  ones  halted  in  the  porch  to  greet  him, 
for  Dr.  Sol  had  spread  the  news  that  he  was 
now  quite  rich  and  might  take  up  his  residence 
in  Greenvale.  Aunt  Comfort  was  one  of  these, 
but  Angie  merely  bowed  and  walked  on  with 
Hannah.  As  their  path  was  the  same,  Martin 
had  half  expected  the  two  families  would  walk 
homeward  together  and  thus  give  him  a  chance 
to  chat  with  Angie ;  but  it  did  not  occur. 
When  the  greetings  were  over,  however,  he 
walked  away  with  Aunt  Comfort. 

When  evening  came,  Martin  was  in  some- 
what of  a  quandary.  He  had  met  Angie  three 
times,  and  on  each  occasion  she  had  shown  no 
more  than  ordinary  courtesy  and  no  vestige 
of  any  deeper  feeling.  Then  to  walk  on  ahead 


146  THE   HERMIT 

of  the  rest,  as  she  had  that  morning,  seemed 
almost  a  snub. 

But  a  certain  dogged  determination  inherent 
in  him  conquered  indecision,  and  when  the 
evening  bell  called  and  she  appeared,  he  boldly 
advanced  and  in  the  most  polite  manner  offered 
his  company  churchward. 

Now  it  was  a  well-understood  social  custom 
in  Greenvale  that,  when  a  young  couple  of 
marriageable  age  walked  to  church  together, 
they  were  engaged,  or  willing  to  be  so  consid- 
ered, and  hence,  when  Martin  walked  up  the 
aisle  that  evening  and  faced  about  to  let  Angie 
enter  the  pew  first,  every  eye  in  the  church  was 
upon  them  and  her  face  was  very  red.  Full 
well  she  knew  what  all  were  thinking  and  what 
a  tempest  of  gossip  would  follow.  It  did  not 
occur  to  Martin,  however,  until  service  was 
over,  and  as  he  opened  the  hymn-book,  found 
the  places  and  stood  up,  he  was  quite  proud  of 
himself.  But  on  the  way  home  a  species  of 
frost  seemed  to  fall  upon  Angie  and  her 
"  Won't  you  come  in  ? "  when  the  gate  was 
reached,  was  so  chilly  he  came  near  refusing  it. 
The  old  custom  had  recurred  to  him  by  this 


SUNDAY   IN   GREENVALE  147 

time,  however,  and  he  felt  he  owed  her  an 
apology.  But  it  must  be  delayed,  for  Aunt 
Comfort  and  Hannah  sat  upon  the  porch,  and 
for  an  hour  the  four  chatted  of  commonplaces 
and  the  evening,  which  was  one  worth  talking 
about,  for  the  moon's  full  light  glowed  in  the 
maples  and  fell  checkered  through  the  latticed, 
vine-hid  porch  where  they  sat,  the  syringas  in 
the  dooryard  mingled  their  odor  with  the  new- 
mown  meadows,  and  the  low  murmur  of  the 
Mizzy  falls  whispered  in  the  balmy  air  —  an 
evening  when  Cupid  should  be  abroad. 

But  Angie  was  decidedly  out  of  harmony 
with  it.  She  would  not  have  gone  to  church 
had  she  dreamed  that  Martin  would  have  in- 
truded his  company  upon  her.  She  could  not 
refuse  it  without  affront,  and  thus  caught,  had 
gone  on  to  feel  herself  a  spectacle  for  all  eyes 
and  a  target  later  for  all  tongues,  and  this,  in 
the  face  of  her  determined  effort  so  far,  to 
avoid  his  attentions.  Something  of  this  came 
to  him  by  degrees,  however,  and  when  they 
were  left  alone  together,  his  first  words  were 
humble. 

"  I   owe   you   an   apology,  Angie,"  he   said, 


148  THE   HERMIT 

quite  meekly,  "  and  realize  I've  put  my  foot  in 
it,  to-night ;  I  didn't  until  I  saw  that  we  were 
stared  at,  and  I  hope  you  will  pardon  my 
blunder." 

"Oh,  it  was  nothing,"  responded  Angie, 
quietly,  "  and  no  harm  has  been  done."  It 
was  the  least  she  could  say. 

"  I've  been  away  so  many  years,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  I've  forgotten  Greenvale's  social  laws, 
and  how  they  will  gossip  here.  I  won't  make 
another  such  blunder,  I  assure  you."  Then,  as 
she  made  no  further  response  to  this,  perforce 
he  had  to  speak  of  something,  and  launched 
into  a  recital  of  the  incidents  of  his  recent  trip 
with  Dr.  Sol.  It  was  ancient  history  to  her,  but 
she  listened  and  commented  with  simulated 
interest.  It  was  forced,  as  Martin  soon  felt, 
and  a  gradual  sense  of  his  own  failure  to  inter- 
est her  grew  upon  him.  Beyond  that  her 
chilly  reception  of  him  upon  all  occasions, 
added  to  the  changes  he  had  found  in  his 
old  haunts,  now  rendered  him  gloomy.  He 
had  tried  his  best  to  be  agreeable,  he  had 
spoken  all  the  pleasant  words  he  could,  perti- 
nent to  the  occasion  ;  he  had  shown  his  desire 


SUNDAY   IN   GREENVALE  149 

to  pay  her  attention,  and  it  all  availed  not.  His 
return  had  so  far  been  a  disappointment  in  all 
respects,  and  he  began  to  wish  that  he  had  kept 
away  from  Greenvale. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  the  story  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle,  Angie,"  he  asked  at  last,  "and  how  the 
old  fellow,  after  sleeping  twenty  years,  returned 
to  his  village  to  find  himself  dead  to  all?  I 
never  before  realized  how  he  felt,  but  to-night 
I  do.  I've  been  here  less  than  a  week,  but  I 
have  come  to  realize  '  How  soon  we  are  forgot,' 
as  Rip  said." 

It  was  not  a  wise  speech,  and  in  view  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  turned  his  back  upon 
Angie  years  before,  it  was  an  ungrateful  one. 
It  stung  her  to  the  quick ;  and  yet  he  was  her 
guest,  and  she  forbore  to  reply  sharply. 

"We  are  all  in  the  same  position,"  she 
answered  pleasantly,  "  and  out  of  sight,  out  of 
mind,  applies  to  us  all.  If  one  forgets,  he 
should  not  complain  at  being  forgotten." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  replied,  quick  to  catch  her 
reproof,  "  but  the  grind  of  life  and  fight  for  a 
competence  are  factors  that  must  be  considered. 
We  are  not  always  our  own  masters  in  life." 


150  THE   HERMIT 

"  No,"  she  said  with  a  laugh,  and  still  re- 
solved to  be  nice,  "  I  have  realized  that  many 
times  when  my  own  purse  was  empty  and  I 
owed  a  few  bills." 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  as  if  considering 
how  to  answer,  and  then  suddenly  rose  to  go. 

"Once  again,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  the 
annoyance  I  caused  you  this  evening,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  assure  you  it  won't  happen  again.  I 
see  I  alone  am  to  blame  for  being  forgotten.  I 
must  make  a  fresh  beginning.  May  I  call 
again  ? " 

"Why  —  yes — of  course,"  she  replied,  also 
rising,  "we  are  near  neighbors,  and  why 
shouldn't  you  ? " 

And  with  that  slight  encouragement,  he 
bade  her  good  night. 

There  are  some  invitations  to  call  that 
mean  stay  away. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ANGIE    CURTIS 

ACCORDING  to  Zachariah  Phinney,  or  Squire 
Phinney,  the  village  oracle  of  Greenvale,  Angie 
Curtis  was  "A  stiddy  gal,  that  had  got  her 
growth  airly  V  made  the  best  o'  an  unfortnit 
situation."  He  was  the  tacit  leader  of  what 
might  be  called  the  anti-David-Curtis  faction, 
and  originally  had  counselled  and  advised  Aunt 
Comfort  to  take  legal  action  and  compel  David 
to  make  an  equitable  settlement  of  his  brother's 
estate.  He  had  also  been  the  prime  mover 
in  organizing  the  Unitarian  church  society  of 
Greenvale,  and  as  David  was  a  pillar  of  the 
Orthodox  church,  there  was  double  reason  for 
the  two  men's  enmity.  This,  of  course,  was 
now  an  old  story  in  Greenvale,  but  as  Angie 
grew  up,  Squire  Phinney  was  her  earnest  well- 
wisher  and  adviser,  as  his  daughter  was  her 


152  THE   HERMIT 

bosom  friend  and  confidante.  It  was  he  who 
gave  her  a  position  as  school-teacher,  almost 
before  she  was  old  enough  to  fill  it.  When 
Christmas  came  each  year,  his  usual  remem- 
brance to  her  was  a  dress  pattern  and  pair  of 
shoes  from  his  store. 

"Ye  mustn't  mind  takin'  'em,  girlie,"  he 
would  say  when  Angie  demurred,  "  yer  father 
V  me  was  allus  good  friends,  an'  if  'twas  turn 
about,  he'd  do  the  same." 

Among  the  young  people  Angie  was  in  a  way 
a  puzzle.  They  had  all  known  and  noticed  the 
youthful  intimacy  between  herself  and  Martin, 
but  as  most  of  them  had  had  the  same  early 
experiences,  a  few  of  which  materialized  into 
marriage  and  more  that  did  not,  no  heed  was 
ever  paid  to  the  fact  that  "  her  beau  "  had  gone 
away  to  seek  his  fortune.  Later,  however, 
when  other  young  men  tried  to  pay  her  serious 
court  and  failed,  it  seemed  past  understanding. 
She  was  handsome  and  lovable,  alone  in  the 
world,  except  for  Aunt  Comfort's  care,  entirely 
dependent  upon  her  own  earnings,  and  likely  to 
be ;  and  just  why  none  of  the  eligible  applicants 
for  her  favor  received  any  encouragement 


ANGIE  CURTIS  153 

seemed  strange.  Some  of  the  young  men  natu- 
rally called  her  "  stuck  up,"  but  it  was  invari- 
ably those  who  had  received  "the  mitten." 
However,  she  had  company  a-plenty,  and 
Aunt  Comfort's  old-fashioned  parlor  and  sitting 
room  were  the  scene  of  many  a  country  party, 
where  "  Button,  button,"  "  Post-office,"  and 
similar  games  were  the  hilarious  enjoyments. 
Occasionally  a  dance  was  held  in  the  town 
hall,  where  two  fiddles,  a  cornet,  and  bass 
viol  rendered  Money  Musk,  Fisher's  Hornpipe, 
Virginia  Reel,  and  other  contra-dances  in  a 
lively  manner,  and  the  young  men  vied  with 
each  other  in  extra  pigeon-wing  steps. 

When  Martin  returned,  reported  to  be  well 
off,  and  boldly  walked  to  church  with  Angie 
the  first  Sunday  evening,  it  was  like  a  bomb- 
shell dropped  into  the  rural  quiet  of  Greenvale, 
and  the  staring  was  a  trifle  to  the  storm  of 
gossip  that  followed.  It  was  kindly  and  well 
meant,  however,  and  he  was  considered  to  be 
doing  just  what  he  ought  to  do,  but  it  gave  the 
village  a  shock,  nevertheless,  and  a  few  wise- 
acres insisted  that  Angie  must  have  been  wait- 
ing for  him  all  along. 


154  THE   HERMIT 

If  she  had  been,  he  was  not  likely  to  even 
guess  it  from  her  conduct. 

Impelled  by  the  sweet  memories  of  his  boy- 
hood, he  had  returned  to  Greenvale,  fully  re- 
solved to  woo  Angie  over  again.  He  was 
mature  enough  to  know  what  he  wanted,  had 
ample  means  to  establish  a  home  and  live  in 
modest  luxury,  had  found  Angie  developed  into 
splendid  womanhood,  still  unwed  and  no  suitor 
in  the  way,  but  —  she  was  unresponsive! 

He  called  again  and  again,  to  find  her  the 
same  cool,  well-poised  young  lady,  always  gra- 
cious, but  never  sentimental;  always  charming, 
but  never  alluring ;  and  while  he  occasionally 
walked  home  with  her  from  church,  he  did  not 
again  intrude  his  company  there.  He  took  her 
out  driving  along  the  shaded  wood  roads  they 
had  in  their  youth  enjoyed,  gathered  laurel  and 
all  manner  of  wild  flowers,  and  he  had  even 
accompanied  her  on  berry-picking  trips.  In 
this  pleasant  association  he  discovered  a  few 
things,  one  of  which  was  that  no  matter  where 
they  went,  or  how  much  of  a  reminder  of  old 
times  the  locality  might  be,  reference  to  the  fact 
met  no  response.  It  was  as  if  she  wished  the 


ANGIE   CURTIS  1 55 

past  dead  and  buried.  He  also  noticed  she  was 
no  longer  the  simple,  confiding,  childlike  girl, 
whom  he  could  fondle  and  caress  at  will,  but 
mature  in  thought  and  able  to  cope  with  him  on 
any  subject.  Green  vale  boasted  a  modest  pub- 
lic library  of  which  Angie  had  made  good  use, 
and  he  found  her  better  informed  than  himself 
upon  some  subjects. 

Another  vexation  to  Martin  —  it  usually  is  to 
all  men  —  was  that  no  matter  how  good  an  op- 
portunity presented  itself  for  loverlike  caress- 
ing—  the  seclusion  of  wood-bordered  roadways, 
or  when  he  lingered  late  in  Aunt  Comfort's 
parlor,  or  parted  on  the  porch,  some  intangible 
barrier  of  cool  reserve  on  Angle's  part  kept 
him  at  a  distance.  In  the  old  times  she  offered 
him  her  lips  with  childish  innocence  and  per- 
fect faith  ;  now,  although  she  was  ten  times  more 
attractive,  they  seldom  touched  finger-tips. 

But  a  woman's  heart  or  emotion  —  hard  to 
define  and  still  harder  to  understand  —  always 
has  been  and  always  will  be  moved  by  curious 
influences,  and  Angie,  poor,  proud,  and  tender, 
was  no  exception.  More  mature  at  sixteen 
than  most  girls,  she  had  suffered  keenly  when 


156  THE   HERMIT 

her  boyish  lover  deserted  her;  but  to  no  one, 
not  even  Aunt  Comfort,  had  she  confided  that 
fact. 

And  now  her  faithless  one  was  back  again 
and  seeking  her  with  evidently  serious  intent. 
At  first  her  pride  rebelled,  and  then  it  became 
a  motive  force  in  her  suitor's  favor.  She  knew 
all  her  schoolmates  and  present  associates  re- 
membered his  youthful  devotion  and  sudden 
departure,  and  for  him  to  return  after  all  these 
years  to  pay  her  court  anew  was  a  vindication 
which  even  her  pride  could  not  deny. 

Then  gossip  —  and  it  is  a  potent  factor  in 
all  village  life  —  played  its  part.  First  one, 
then  another,  of  her  friends  slyly  congratulated 
her  upon  his  attentions.  His  looks,  his  bear- 
ing, his  means,  were  all  a  matter  of  kindly 
comment,  and  such  is  the  influence  of  money, 
or  its  possession,  that  people  who  had  never 
noticed  him  as  a  boy  now  spoke  of  him  as  a 
person  of  great  importance. 

But  Angie  had  learned  the  bitter  lesson  of 
man's  faithlessness,  and  learned  it  well,  and 
the  wooing  sped  slowly. 

And    then    again,    womanlike,    she   was    so 


ANGIE  CURTIS  157 

exasperatingly  changeable,  he  knew  not  what 
to  think.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  he  had 
been  forgiven  the  old  score  —  never  spoken  of  — 
and  she  appeared  to  be  th,e  Angie  of  old ;  but 
the  moment  he  assumed  it,  even  by  a  word, 
presto  !  she  grew  chilly. 

She  had  been  forced  to  walk,  with  aching 
heart,  through  the  valley  of  despair;  now  he 
was  following  the  same  path. 

As  it  was  midsummer,  his  few  calls  had  so 
far  been  passed  upon  the  porch,  but  one  even- 
ing the  weather  made  an  invitation  into  the 
parlor  necessary.  It  was  not  changed  except 
for  the  piano,  and  as  Martin  seated  himself 
upon  the  old-fashioned,  haircloth  sofa,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  had  stepped  backward  a  score  of  years. 
Then,  too,  Angie  used  to  sing  for  him  here, 
simple  Sabbath-school  songs  and  ballads  never 
heard  except  in  a  secluded  village  like  Green- 
vale,  and  her  childish  treble,  accompanied  by 
the  droning  melodeon,  had  seemed  very  sweet. 
The  melodeon  had  vanished,  but  all  else  was 
the  same,  and  even  Angie  now  appeared  more 
like  her  old  self.  For  a  time  they  chatted  of 
commonplaces,  and  then  the  force  of  old 


158  THE   HERMIT 

memories  wrought  their  spell,  and  Martin 
stepped  to  the  piano. 

"Come,  Angie,"  he  said,  "please  be  good 
to  me  and  sing  some  of  the  old  songs.  I  know 
you  can ;  I  overheard  you  the  night  I  came." 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  while  pride 
combated  with  another  and  better  impulse. 
It  was  like  a  turning-point  in  her  own  feelings, 
a  new  and  insidious  desire  to  live  over  the  old 
memories  once  again. 

"  I  cannot  sing,"  she  answered,  and  then 
went  to  the  piano  without  another  word.  More 
than  that,  so  gracious  was  her  mood,  she  sang, 
for  a  full  hour,  anything  and  everything  he 
asked  for,  and  with  a  feeling  that  made  him 
long  to  gather  her  in  his  arms  once  more. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  he  exclaimed,  as  she  at  last 
turned  away,  "  you  have  made  me  feel  some- 
what churchy,  and  I  want  a  Sabbath-school 
song  now."  And  he  placed  a  well-worn  copy 
of  "  Fresh  Laurels  "  on  the  music-rack. 

But  Angie  didn't  need  it,  and,  turning  again 
with  upraised  face,  she  sang:  — 

"  Give,  said  the  little  stream, 
Give,  oh  give,  give,  oh  give, 


ANGIE  CURTIS  159 

Give,  said  the  little  stream, 

As  it  hurried  down  the  hill. 

I  am  small,  I  know,  but  where'er  I  go 

Give,  oh  give,  give,  oh  give, 

I  am  small,  I  know,  but  where'er  I  go 

The  fields  grow  greener  still. 

Singing,  singing  all  the  day, 

Give  away,  oh  give  away, 

Singing,  singing  all  the  day, 

Give,  oh  give  away." 

It  was  a  rollicking  song,  full  of  the  happy 
laughter  of  a  brook,  and  it  carried  Martin  back 
to  boyhood  as  naught  else  could.  He  was  not 
devout,  except  in  a  very  moderate  sense,  and 
believed  but  little  of  all  the  orthodoxy  ever 
preached  in  Greenvale,  but  he  was  fast  falling 
in  love  again  with  Angie,  and  that  species  of 
insanity  is  peculiar  in  its  manifestation. 

Then  came  "Gathering  at  the  River,"  and  a 
dozen  more  of  similar  old  tenor. 

"  There  now,"  exclaimed  Angie,  almost  petu- 
lantly, as  she  ceased  singing,  "  if  I  haven't  tired 
you  out,  I  shall  never  try  again." 

"  But  I  shall  ask  you  to  again,  you  may  be 
sure,"  responded  Martin,  in  his  earnest  way. 

It  was   now  time  for  departure,  and  as   he 


160  THE  HERMIT 

paused  in  the  darkened  hall,  with  Angie  close 
by  waiting  for  him  to  go,  and  the  tall  clock 
ticking  in  the  empty  sitting  room,  almost  did 
his  impulse  of  love  and  longing  assert  itself. 
One  word  —  one  accent  —  even  the  shading  of 
a  tone  in  her  voice  would  have  precipitated 
foolishness  on  his  part.  But  her  mood  had 
changed. 

"  I  think  it's  going  to  rain,"  she  said,  as  she 
glanced  out  into  the  night,  "  and  I  am  glad. 
My  flowers  are  getting  thirsty." 

And  the  good  night  that  responded  to  his  was 
as  cool  as  the  evening  air. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OLD    CY    WALKER 

FROM  the  orthodox  standpoint  of  Greenvale, 
old  Cy  was  a  Sabbath-breaker,  an  unregener- 
ate  old  scoffer,  outcast,  vagabond,  and  one  best 
to  avoid.  From  the  boys'  point  of  view  he  was  a 
most  delightful  old  comrade,  whose  knowledge 
of  woodcraft  was  marvellous,  whose  method  of 
existence  was  the  only  right  and  proper  one, 
and  whose  companionship  was  to  be  sought  at 
all  times. 

He  knew  where  all  the  best  trout  pools  were, 
how  to  line  up  and  find  the  bee  trees,  set  snares 
and  traps ;  where  nuts,  berries,  and  wild  grapes 
could  be  found ;  and  more  than  all  this,  he  was 
ready  at  all  times  to  share  this  lore  with  them. 
He  was  to  them  a  veritable  Leatherstocking 
outlined  on  a  background  of  forest,  field,  and 
stream,  and  his  shapeless  hat,  patched  raiment, 
kindly  face,  and  quaint  speech  were  familiar  to 
M  161 


1 62  THE  HERMIT 

all.  With  dog  and  gun  always,  and  some  of 
the  village  boys  occasionally  for  companions, 
he  roamed  the  woods  and  followed  the  streams 
about  Greenvale,  or  worked  for  Aunt  Comfort 
when  needed.  He  lived  in  a  hovel  on  her 
premises,  was  temperate,  honest,  and  a  friend  to 
everybody  except  David  Curtis.  There  was 
ample  reason  for  that  exception.  In  the  long 
ago,  old  Cy,  schoolmate,  friend,  and  companion  of 
Amzi  Curtis,  and  later  working  for  him  in  the 
mill,  had  aspired  to  own  a  respectable  dwelling. 
He  bought  a  small  tract  of  land  on  the  village 
outskirts,  contracted  with  David  Curtis  for 
lumber,  and  when  the  house  was  built,  gave 
him  a  mortgage  to  secure  payment.  That  was 
almost  accomplished  when  Amzi  so  mysteri- 
ously vanished.  But  lack  of  employment  and 
illness  fell  to  old  Cy's  lot ;  he  failed  to  pay  as 
agreed ;  then  David  foreclosed,  and  after  that 
old  Cy  became  a  vagabond,  as  it  were. 

Martin  had  been  one  of  his  boy  admirers, 
and  now  since  his  return  had  induced  the  old 
man  to  take  him  fishing,  and  later  to  super- 
intend the  building  of  his  dam  and  the  clear- 
ing of  land  for  a  trout  preserve.  It  was 


OLD   CY  WALKER  163 

while  thus  engaged  that  a  new  thought  came 
to  Martin  —  nothing  less  than  to  buy  the  Mizzy 
falls  and  swamp  above,  build  a  low  dam  where 
the  falls  were,  and  flood  a  large  area  for  trout 
and  pleasure  purposes. 

There  was  also  another  consideration. 

Those  falls,  the  key-note  to  any  manufac- 
turing opportunities  or  future  growth  of  Green- 
vale,  were  a  valuable  power  that  might  become 
more  so,  and  as  a  purely  business  investment, 
it  seemed  a  wise  one  to  Martin.  For  a  few 
days  he  thought  about  it,  and  the  more  he 
thought,  the  more  tempting  in  many  ways  the 
investment  seemed. 

"  Cy,"  he  said,  when  they  were  by  them- 
selves, "  how  much  of  the  Mizzy  swamp  does 
Dave  Curtis  own,  and  what  do  you  imagine 
he  would  ask  for  the  falls  and  land  above 
them  ?  " 

Old  Cy  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "I 
know  every  rod  he  owns  above  'em,"  he  an- 
swered finally,  "  but  ye  couldn't  buy  one 
'thout  payin'  ten  times  what  it's  wuth,  'n' 
then  a  deed  on  't  ain't  no  good  'thout  Amzi's 
signin'." 


1 64  THE   HERMIT 

"  Oh,  I  expect  that,"  answered  Martin,  in- 
differently, "  and  as  far  as  Amzi's  signature,  — 
why,  he'll  never  come  back.  It  must  be 
twenty  years  since  he  disappeared." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  o'  that,"  responded  old 
Cy,  resolutely ;  "  I've  allus  held  he  was  still 
alive,  'n'  I  believe  it  yit.  Ez  fer  Dave's  set- 
tin'  a  price  on  the  Mizzy  falls  'n'  his  land, 
he's  been  figgering  with  some  one  out  o'  town 
already.  I  heerd  him." 

"You  heard  him!" 

"  I  did,  fer  sartin.  I  was  up  the  Mizzy 
one  day  last  spring,  huntin'  fer  a  mink  trap 
that  had  got  dragged  off,  'n'  I  heard  some  one 
comin'  through  the  brush  'n'  laid  low.  'Twas 
Dave  'n'  a  city  man,  'n'  Dave  was  showin'  him 
round  and  tellin'  him  how  handy  'twas  to 
float  logs  down  the  Mizzy  in  spring  freshets, 
'n'  about  how  much  he  owned.  They  sot 
down  on  a  log  'n'  talked  more  'n'  an  hour,  'n' 
I  heerd  it  all.  The  city  man  had  a  scheme  to 
build  a  mill  'n'  grind  up  wood  'n'  make  paper,  but 
they  didn't  make  a  dicker,  fer  Dave  sot  such  an 
ungodly  price,  the  man  wouldn't  pay  it." 

"How  much?" 


OLD  CY  WALKER  165 

"  Thirty  thousand  dollars ! " 

Martin  gave  a  low  whistle.  He  had  heard 
Curtis  was  considered  "sharp,"  but  this  was  such 
a  fabulous  sum  for  the  impassable  Misery  swamp 
and  water-power  that  it  took  his  breath  away. 

"  I've  kept  watch  fer  that  man  showin'  up 
ever  since,"  continued  old  Cy,  "  an'  if  he  ever 
does,  I'll  open  his  eyes  'bout  Amzi  V  one  or 
two  other  matters.  I've  been  roostin'  round 
on  back  fences  now  fer  a  good  many  years, 
waitin'  to  git  square  with  Dave  Curtis  !  Why, 
all  his  medder  land  'n'  houses  V  both  mills  'n' 
woodland  ain't  taxed  fer  but  six  thousand  dollars, 
'n'  askin'  thirty  fer  the  Mizzy  swamp  'n'  them 
tumble-down  mills  ain't  no  better  'n  stealin'." 

Then  Martin  laughed,  for  old  Cy's  ideas  of 
business  were  as  primitive  as  his  method  of 
living. 

"  I  ain't  said  a  word  to  nobody,"  added 
the  old  man,  with  true  hunter's  instinct,  "  'n' 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  yet  awhile,  'n'  don't  be 
thinkin'  o'  buying  land  o'  Dave  Curtis  'n'  get- 
tin'  robbed.  He'll  croak  'fore  many  years  'n' 
then  ye  kin  git  it  fer  what  it's  wuth ;  'sides, 
Amzi  might  show  up  any  day." 


1 66  THE   HERMIT 

"What  reason  have  you  for  believing  Amzi 
still  alive  ?  "  inquired  Martin,  a  little  touched 
by  the  blind  faith  of  old  Cy.  "  No  one  else 
here  shares  your  belief,  so  Dr.  Sol  says." 

"  Wai,"  answered  the  old  man,  slowly,  "  it's 
a  curis  notion  o'  mine,  but  him  'n'  me  wus 
just  like  two  brothers,  'n'  used  to  fish  'n'  hunt 
together,  'n'  spend  hours  in  the  woods  talkin' 
'bout  all  sorts  o'  things.  He  had  queer  ideas 
about  some  matters,  'n'  one  wus  that  all  kinds 
o'  animals  had  souls,  same  ez  we  hev.  'They 
all  live  over  again,'  he  used  to  say,  '  only 
they  keep  on  changin'  shapes  back  'n'  forth. 
Birds  become  animals,  'n'  animals  birds ;  'n' 
men  'n'  women  become  cows  'n'  pigs  'n'  cats 
'n'  back  to  human  shape  agin.  I  shall,  'n'  so 
will  you,  'n'  if  I  change  fust,  I'll  find  some 
way  o'  tellin'  you,'  'n'  I  believe  he  would,  jest 
as  sure  ez  I  believe  I'm  livin'.  Then  agin, 
he  was  a  good  deal  younger  'n  I  am,  and 
what  I  call  handy  in  the  woods.  Give  him 
an  axe  'n'  a  gun  'n'  drop  him  down  in  the 
middle  o'  a  wilderness,  'n'  he'll  take  keer  o' 
himself  in  the  dead  o'  winter.  His  sense  o' 
hearin*  an'  smellin'  was  keener  'n  a  fox's,  'n' 


OLD   CY   WALKER  I 67 

he  could  see  a  bird  or  hear  a  squirrel  a  mile 
off,  V  ez  fur  trackin'  game,  he  could  beat 
any  dog  that  ever  run." 

"  I  don't  recall  him  very  well,"  asserted  Mar- 
tin, "  but  I  remember  there  was  a  bitter  hatred 
between  him  and  his  brother,  and  I  always 
supposed  he  was  out  of  his  mind  when  he 
disappeared.  Of  course  I  heard  of  the  pecu- 
liar will,  but  I  imagined  the  law  had  settled 
that  long  ago." 

"I  don't  believe  no  law  kin  rob  a  live  man 
o'  what  he  inherits,"  answered  old  Cy,  earnestly, 
"  'n'  if  Aunt  Comfort  'n'  Angie  was  a  mind, 
they  cud  make  old  Dave  trouble.  They  won't, 
though.  It  ain't  Aunt  Comfort's  natur'." 

"Tell  me  what  sort  of  looking  man  Amzi 
was,"  continued  Martin,  as  a  curious  thought 
came  to  him,  "  and  what  were  his  peculiarities. 
I  don't  recall  him  very  well." 

"  Wai,  he  was  tall  'n'  lanky,  with  wide  starin' 
eyes  'n'  queer  ways.  He  liked  to  be  by  him- 
self a  good  deal,  'n'  once  in  a  while  I  uster 
come  onter  him  alone  in  the  woods  'n'  twangin' 
a  jews'-harp.  He  allus  carried  one  with  him." 

For  one  instant  Martin's  heart  almost  stopped 


1 68  THE   HERMIT 

beating,  as  the  wilderness  hermit,  now  so  accu- 
rately described,  flashed  into  mind.  But,  great 
heaven  !  could  it  be  possible  ?  And  then  came 
the  thought  of  Angie,  now  growing  very  dear 
to  him,  and  what  this  seeming  revelation 
might  mean  to  her,  if  true. 

He  sat  down  to  think. 

As  a  rule  Martin  seldom  lost  his  head,  or 
spoke  without  thought.  He  had  battled  with 
shrewd,  hard-headed,  grasping  men,  when  a 
word  too  much  or  too  soon  meant  everything, 
and  he  had  learned  caution.  To  now  dis- 
close, even  by  a  hint,  what  he  felt  was  true 
would  mean  to  set  all  Greenvale  in  an  uproar. 
Old  Cy  might  be  trusted,  and  again  he  might 
not.  It  was,  at  least,  safest  not  to  try  him. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  David's 
price,"  Martin  said  at  last  to  old  Cy,  who 
stood  watching  him ;  "  it  staggers  me.  I  had 
an  idea  the  falls  and  swamp  above  might 
be  bought  for  perhaps  ten  thousand  or  less." 

And  old  Cy  never  suspected  that  dust  had 
been  thrown  into  his  eyes. 

"  I'd  rather  you'd  keep  to  yourself  what 
I've  said,  Cy,"  Martin  added  a  little  later; 


OLD   CY  WALKER  169 

"  I  certainly  won't  pay  what  you  say  David 
asks,  and  I'm  not  anxious  to  buy  at  any  price. 
If  this  stranger  comes  around  again,  however, 
let  me  know  at  once.  I'd  like  to  meet  him." 

When  Martin  was  by  himself  again,  and 
could  think  coherently,  a  new  horizon  seemed 
to  open  before  him,  and,  as  might  be  expected, 
Angie  was  in  the  foreground.  Most  of  her 
history  he  knew  very  well ;  some  details  had 
been  added  by  the  doctor,  but  now  the  situa- 
tion was  all  changed.  If  this  old  hermit 
proved  to  be  her  father,  —  as  Martin  felt 
almost  sure  he  was,  —  if  he  could  be  induced 
to  return  to  Greenvale  and  assert  his  rights, 
what  must  it  mean  to  Angie  and  Aunt  Com- 
fort ?  The  half-demented,  or  queer  condi- 
tion of  mind,  in  which  the  old  fellow  seemed 
to  be,  was  another  factor,  and  what  could  be 
done  with  him  in  Greenvale  ?  It  was  a  prob- 
lem hard  to  solve,  and,  turn  it  which  way  he 
would,  one  that  was  pathetic,  tragic,  and 
almost  horrible. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  that  night  ere 
he  ceased  thinking  of  it,  or  decided  upon  a 
course  of  action. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DIAMOND    CUT    DIAMOND 

IN  Martin's  long  hours  of  trying  to  solve 
the  problem,  now  so  suddenly  confronting  him, 
one  danger  seemed  imminent  —  that  David 
Curtis  might  sell  out  to  this  stranger  before 
it  could  be  proved  that  his  brother  still  lived. 
Land  could  be  attached;  but  money,  once  in 
the  hands  of  a  man  like  David,  was  not  easily 
reached  by  law.  What  Martin  decided  to  do, 
cost  what  it  might,  was  not  to  buy  the  Mizzy 
power  and  land,  but  keep  David  from  selling 
it  until  the  existence  of  Amzi  could  be  proved. 
There  was  but  one  way  to  do  it  —  to  secure 
an  option  and  pay  a  small  sum  down  to  bind 
the  bargain. 

"It  will   cost   me   a  few  thousand  dollars," 

he    said    to    himself,    when    a    decision    was 

reached,  "but  it  may  save  Angie  her  heritage." 

And  Martin  was  fast  reaching  that  point  where 

170 


DIAMOND   CUT   DIAMOND  l"J I 

money  seemed  like  brown  leaves  compared  to 
a  woman's  love. 

To  go  to  David  without  actual  currency  to 
pay  down  was  useless,  and  there  was  no  bank 
in  Green  vale.  Early  the  next  morning  Martin 
packed  his  valise,  and  telling  the  doctor  that 
business  of  importance  called  him  to  the  city, 
he  left  Greenvale  on  the  stage. 

He  had  many  times  taken  journeys  that 
were  tedious  —  all-day  stage  rides  to  reach  the 
wilderness,  and  others  quite  as  tiresome;  but 
never  one  that  seemed  quite  so  long  as  this. 
When  a  day  in  the  city  had  been  consumed 
in  obtaining  legal  advice  from  a  friend,  buying 
a  few  books  and  new  songs  for  Angie,  and  a 
late  model  rifle  for  old  Cy,  Martin  started  for 
Greenvale  with  a  roll  of  currency,  and  the 
journey  back  seemed  interminable. 

It  was  late  and  he  was  dusty  and  very  tired 
ere  the  doctor's  pleasant  home  was  reached, 
and  by  that  time  Martin  had  realized  that  to 
carry  out  what  he  hoped,  and  not  set  Green- 
vale  gossips  agog,  required  both  tact  and 
diplomacy. 

"  I've  learned  that   some   capitalist   is   after 


1/2  THE   HERMIT 

the  Mizzy  power,"  he  observed  to  the  doctor 
when  they  sat  down  to  supper,  "  and  I  think 
I'll  buy  it  as  a  speculation ;  would  you  ? " 

"No,"  answered  Dr.  Sol,  bluntly,  "I 
wouldn't.  In  the  first  place  David  won't 
sell  except  for  a  fabulous  price,  and  if  the 
unexpected  should  happen  and  Amzi  ever 
show  up,  your  title  wouldn't  be  worth  a  fig. 
The  best  way,"  he  added,  winking  at  his  wife, 
"is  for  you  to  marry  Angie  and  then  sue  old 
David  for  her  rights.  It  will  make  an  awful 
stir  here,  but  you  will  win,  I'm  sure." 

"  You  seem  to  think  Angie  has  already  said 
yes,"  returned  Martin,  looking  pleased,  "but 
I'm  not  so  sure  of  it." 

"That's  right,"  laughed  the  doctor,  "but 
keep  on  thinking  she  won't,  and  you'll  win. 
I've  told  her  if  she  didn't  marry  you,  I'd 
never  speak  to  her  again.  I've  heard,"  con- 
tinued the  doctor,  as  Martin  made  no  re- 
sponse to  this  sally,  "that  some  one  was  here 
last  spring  trying  to  buy  David's  property, 
but  wouldn't  pay  the  price." 

"  I  still  think  I'll  make  him  an  offer,"  an- 
swered Martin,  to  close  the  subject,  "and  if  I 


DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND  173 

get  it  and  don't  sell,  I'll  turn  it  into  a  fish- 
pond." 

It  was  a  game  of  diamond  cut  diamond 
when  Martin  approached  David  Curtis  the 
next  day,  and  one,  not  relished  by  him.  He 
found  the  old  man  working  in  his  sawmill, 
and,  without  wasting  words,  asked  him  if  he 
would  set  a  price  on  the  Mizzy  power  and  all 
land  above  the  falls. 

"Wai,  I  might  'n'  I  mightn't,"  answered 
David,  looking  quizzically  at  Martin  with  shark- 
ish  eyes,  "  dew  ye  want  to  buy  it  ? " 

"Perhaps,  if  I  could  get  it  low  enough," 
answered  Martin,  quietly ;  "  I  have  a  business 
friend  in  the  city  who  has  been  looking  for 
some  available  water  privilege.  He  has  about 
decided  to  locate  at  Riverton.  If  I  could  buy 
yours  cheap  enough,  I  might  induce  him  to 
change  his  plans  and  locate  here." 

"Wai,  I  don't  keer  much  about  sellin'  out," 
replied  David,  beginning  to  whittle  a  stick, 
"  the  place  has  been  ourn  a  good  many  jinera- 
tions  'n'  I'm  sorter  'tached  to  "t."  He  paused 
a  moment,  eyeing  Martin,  then  continued,  "Ye 
might  make  a  dicker  with  this  chap,  mebbe,  'n' 


174  THE   HERMIT 

I'd  'low  ye  all  ye'd  git  over  what  I  call  a 
fair  price." 

"No,"  answered  Martin,  reading  the  old  hypo- 
crite like  a  book,  "  if  I  do  anything  about  it,  I 
shall  buy  the  property  outright,  form  a  stock 
company,  and  go  in  myself.  I'm  thinking  of 
residing  here  permanently  now." 

"An'  what  be  ye  callating  to  do  with  the 
property  if  ye  do  ? " 

"Why,  I'd  build  a  pulp-mill  and  possibly 
make  paper  besides,"  responded  Martin,  also 
seating  himself  and  beginning  to  whittle. 
"That's  what  my  friend  is  up  to,  but  he  is 
opposed  to  Greenvale  for  a  location.  It's  too 
far  from  a  railroad." 

"  How'd  it  strike  ye  if  I  leased  ye  the  power 
V  sold  ye  land  fer  a  mill  ?  " 

"No-o-o,"  replied  Martin,  very  slowly,  as  if 
thinking,  "  I  wouldn't  put  any  money  into  that 
plan  and  I  know  my  friend  wouldn't.  There 
might  be  some  litigation  as  to  the  title,  also, 
later  on.  I'm  told  it's  not  quite  clear  as  it  is, 
and  your  brother's  child,  Angie,  has  some 
claim ;  is  that  so  ? " 

The  diamonds  were  beginning  to  scratch  now. 


DIAMOND   CUT  DIAMOND  175 

"  That's  a  lie,"  returned  David,  sharply,  "  an' 
I  kin  prove  it.  My  brother  didn't  have  noth- 
ing but  debts  when  he  died  an'  I  paid  'em,  an' 
the  land's  mine  by  will." 

"  I've  heard  also,"  replied  Martin,  casually, 
now  that  he  had  a  fair  start,  "  that  your 
brother  was  not  dead  and  has  been  seen  about 
here  within  a  few  years.  I  hardly  believe  that, 
however." 

For  one  instant  David's  wrinkled  face  grew 
livid,  and  the  hand  holding  the  whittled  stick 
shook  as  with  palsy.  "  It's  a  lie,"  he  almost 
shouted,  "  a  scand'lus  lie  'n'  told  by  an  infiddle 
here  t'  injure  me." 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  that,"  replied  Martin, 
smiling  calmly  at  the  old  miser's  excitement, 
"but  that  story  has  been  told,  and  a  stranger 
coming  here  will  be  sure  to  hear  it.  •  I  am  not 
certain  myself  but  that  your  brother's  child, 
Angie,  has  some  legal  claim  yet  against  your 
estate,  —  some  inherited  dower  right.  It's  a 
matter  that  doesn't  concern  me,  however. 
The  only  question  is  —  do  you  want  to  sell 
the  Mizzy  power  and  land  above,  and  can  you 
give  me  a  clear  title  ? " 


176  THE   HERMIT 

"  I  kin,  'n'  'cordin'  to  law,"  replied  David,  in 
an  ugly  tone,  "  'n'  ez  for  the  price,  what'll  ye 
give  ? " 

"  How  much  land  do  you  own  above  the 
falls,  and  what  will  you  take  for  it,  and  the 
power  ? "  answered  Martin,  facing  about  and 
looking  squarely  into  David's  face. 

For  a  moment  the  two  sharp  bargain-makers 
glanced  into  each  other's  eyes,  the  sparring  at 
an  end,  and  each  sure  the  other  had  been  lying. 

"  I'll  take  forty  thousand  dollars  fer  the  two 
hundred  'n'  odd  acres  above  'n'  the  falls  'n' 
both  mills,"  returned  the  elder,  doggedly. 

"And  I'll  give  you  thirty  thousand  inside  a 
year,  and  pay  you  two  thousand  down  to-day, 
to  bind  the  bargain,"  admitted  the  younger. 

David  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I 
ain't  sellia'  on  them  terms." 

"Well,  I'm  not  anxious  to  buy,"  rejoined 
Martin,  drawing  a  big  roll  of  bills  into  view. 
"  All  I  wanted  was  to  see  if  I  could  get  an 
option  on  the  property  and  induce  my  friend 
to  locate  here.  I'll  make  you  one  more  offer," 
he  added,  returning  the  money  to  his  pocket, 
"  I'll  give  you  ten  dollars  for  a  thirty  days' 


WHAT'LL  YE  GIVE?"  —  Page  176 


DIAMOND  CUT   DIAMOND  177 

option,  or  you  can  accept  my  first  offer."  And 
he  rose  to  go. 

David  rose  also.  It  was  a  critical  moment. 
Deep  down  in  his  heart  he  knew  Martin's 
innuendo  was  true,  and  that  Angie  had  a  legal 
claim  against  him.  More  than  that,  it  was 
within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  Amzi  was 
still  alive.  He  distrusted  Martin  and,  a  con- 
summate hypocrite  himself,  believed  all  others 
to  be  the  same ;  and  yet,  here  was  two  thousand 
dollars  almost  within  grasp.  It  inflamed  him 
and  made  him  tremble  with  the  miser's  greed 
—  and  thirty  thousand  was  all  he  dared  ask 
the  other  !  This  would-be  buyer  had  undoubt- 
edly been  lying,  but  the  money  was  a  reality. 
All  this  flashed  through  David's  mind  as 
Martin  turned  away,  and  avarice  won ! 

"  I'll  take  yer  fust  offer,"  he  said  doggedly, 
"an'  ye've  got  to  sign  a  paper  now,  'greein' 
to  pay  the  rest  inside  a  year,  or  forfeit  the  two 
thousand." 

"  I'm  satisfied  to  do  that,"  returned  Martin, 
smiling  serenely,  "but  I  also  want  a  signed 
agreement  from  you  to  deliver  me  a  warranty 
deed  if  I  do  pay  the  balance  inside  a  year." 


178  THE   HERMIT 

And  when  these  mutual  distrust  papers  had 
been  exchanged,  the  two  thousand  dollars 
counted  over  three  times,  with  trembling  fin- 
gers, by  David,  and  Martin  bade  him  a  curt 
good  morning,  and  walked  away  on  air,  the 
Mizzy  falls  seemed  filled  with  joyous  laughter 
and  the  birds  never  sang  so  sweetly  before. 
His  heart  was  opening  anew  to  the  wondrous 
miracle  of  love,  and  the  divine  light  of  a  new 
life  was  within  view. 

"  I've  saved  you  your  heritage,  little  woman," 
he  said  softly  to  himself,  when  Angle's  home 
came  in  sight,  "  and  maybe  sometime  you'll 
forgive  me  the  old  score." 


CHAPTER  XX 
"THOU  SHALT  NOT  STEAL" 

OLD  Cy  Walker  once  said,  "  If  the  devil 
should  hang  a  fi'penny  bit  o'er  the  middle  o' 
hell,  Dave  Curtis  wouldn't  rest  till  he  got  it," 
and  while  a  scarcely  quotable  expression,  it 
best  illustrates  the  man. 

He  had  deep-set,  cold,  gray  eyes,  never 
knowing  a  shade  of  tenderness;  his  hawk 
nose  betrayed  the  miser  as  his  retreating  fore- 
head did  the  egotist,  and  his  bloodless  hand- 
clasp was  as  chill  as  a  pump-handle  in  winter. 
He  was  so  thin  the  wind  could  almost  blow 
through  him;  his  self-conceit  was  abnormal, 
and  he  was  miserly  mean.  In  addition  he 
was  superstitiously  pious. 

Old  Cy,  perhaps  his  bitterest  critic,  asserted 
as  a  reason  for  this,  "  Dave's  soul's  so  small 
he's  'fraid  it'll  git  lost  in  the  round-up,  'n'  if 
he's  likely  to  git  into  heaven,  I'll  chance  the 
other  place." 

179 


180  THE   HERMIT 

There  was  cause  for  this  feeling,  for  when 
David  foreclosed  the  mortgage  and  turned  old 
Cy,  crippled  by  rheumatism,  out  of  house  and 
home  in  midwinter,  he  made  a  bitter  enemy 
of  him.  It  was  spite,  of  course,  on  David's 
part,  and  in  revenge  for  things  said  by  old 
Cy,  but  none  the  less  merciless.  Aunt  Comfort 
had  cared  for  the  old  man  as  she  did  for  all 
unfortunates,  and  now  he  lived  in  a  hovel  and 
never  missed  a  chance  of  sneering  at  David. 

There  had  been  a  time,  however,  in  the 
earlier  history  of  Green  vale,  when  David  Cur- 
tis was  more  respected.  It  was  before  Amzi 
disappeared,  and  when  David,  prospering  in 
his  mill,  gave  liberally  to  the  church.  He  was 
close  and  mean  even  then ;  but  so  were  others 
in  that  small  village  where  dollars  were  hard 
to  obtain. 

Then  came  Amzi's  loss  by  the  flood  and 
the  death  of  his  wife,  his  disappearance, 
David's  refusal  to  pay  his  debts,  or  even  to 
make  any  provision  for  the  doubly  orphaned 
child  Angeline.  It  was  a  tragedy  followed  by 
a  scandal,  and  when  Greenvale  had  done  dis- 
cussing it,  what  little  respect  there  had  been 


"THOU   SHALT  NOT  STEAL"  l8l 

for  David  had  vanished.  Not  even  Parson 
Jones  could  defend  him,  although  as  David 
still  held  a  mortgage  on  the  new  church 
and  rented  one  of  the  best  pews,  besides  con- 
tributing to  the  cause  in  other  ways,  the 
worthy  dominie  avoided  all  mention  of  him. 

There  are  times  and  reasons  even  in  reli- 
gion when  speech  is  silver  and  silence  golden. 
The  inflexible  law  of  compensation,  however, 
says  that  no  man  can  do  a  wrong  and  avoid 
its  penalty,  and  the  lash  of  injustice  once 
unwound  always  recoils. 

It  did  on  David,  as  it  will  on  all  in  this 
finite  world,  and  slowly,  year  by  year,  while 
Aunt  Comfort  cared  for  the  homeless  child 
Angie,  refusing  even  to  ask  David  for  justice, 
the  little  public  of  Greenvale  as  slowly  but 
surely  turned  its  back  on  him.  They  spoke 
with  him,  of  course,  on  Sundays ;  they  patron- 
ized his  mills,  as  perforce  they  must.  He  was 
a  man  of  means,  paid  taxes,  and  could  not  be 
entirely  ignored  ;  but  none  respected  him. 

There  was,  however,  a  more  potent  lash  than 
public  sentiment,  slowly  unwinding  to  smite 
him,  and  that  was  superstition.  In  his  narrow 


1 82  THE   HERMIT 

cranium,  though  never  admitted,  lurked  the 
ghost  idea.  With  this,  also,  was  a  doubt  as 
to  the  fate  of  Amzi.  At  times  David  felt 
sure  he  must  be  dead ;  and  again  that  he  was 
not.  There  had  been  bad  blood  between  them, 
bitter  quarrels,  almost  blows;  and  then  Amzi 
had  vanished  in  the  night,  as  has  been  told. 
It  was  not  the  act  of  one  with  suicidal  intent, 
or  revenge ;  and  yet  it  sowed  the  seeds  of  a 
revenge  most  horrible. 

There  were  also  other  factors  and  influences 
conspiring  toward  this  revenge.  David  had 
never  married,  and  when  his  mother,  who  sur- 
vived his  father  many  years,  passed  on,  he 
still  remained  in  the  family  home  with  an  old 
negress  as  cook  and  housekeeper,  and,  to  utilize 
the  spare  rooms,  insisted  that  the  men  who 
worked  for  him  in  the  mills  should  board  there. 
Naturally  it  was  a  cheerless  home,  without 
children  or  visitors  of  any  kind,  and  as  David 
gradually  found  himself  shunned  by  the  towns- 
people, he  was  forced  to  live  an  almost  hermit 
life.  Even  those  who  shared  his  home  had 
nothing  in  common  with  him,  and,  although 
his  men  ate  at  the  same  table,  there  was  no 


"THOU   SHALT  NOT   STEAL"  183 

sympathy  or  sociability  between  them.  It  was 
a  mechanical  existence  in  a  great  gloomy 
house,  where  the  creaking  of  loose  boards,  the 
perpetual  roar  of  the  adjacent  falls,  and  the 
moaning  of  the  winds  in  giant  elms  at  night 
always  sounded  ominous.  Such  desolate  homes 
become  uncanny  to  their  occupants  in  time,  and 
so  did  this  to  David.  There  was  also  another 
insidious  influence  that  worked  on  his  mind,  and 
one  even  stronger  than  ghostly  sounds  at  night. 
On  the  wall  back  of  the  tall  pulpit  —  from 
which  the  Reverend  Jones  each  Sunday  ex- 
plained God's  plan  of  salvation,  with  occasional 
descriptions  of  the  city  with  jasper  walls  and 
pearly  gates,  as  well  as  the  other  place  —  were 
the  Ten  Commandments.  David  had  to  read 
them  once  a  week  at  least,  and  the  "Thou 
shalt  not  steal,"  as  the  years  rolled  on,  seemed 
to  smite  him  more  and  more.  He  was  sure 
of  his  own  salvation,  however;  he  still  held 
a  mortgage  on  the  church,  and  did  not  insist 
that  it  be  paid ;  he  contributed  toward  the 
expenses,  as  usual,  and  when  the  trumpet 
sounded  and  the  dead  arose,  he  was  sure  he 
would  march  upwards  somewhere  to  the  seat 


1 84  THE   HERMIT 

he  had  been  paying  for.  On  the  other  hand, 
when  the  eternal  doom  of  sinners  was  described, 
David  was  sure  that  old  Cy  and  all  his  enemies 
were  to  be  the  lost  ones.  He  had  no  qualms 
of  conscience;  he  was  purely  selfish  in  all 
his  conclusions ;  and  yet  that  eighth  com- 
mandment kept  boring  into  his  conscience 
year  after  year.  He  knew  he  had  wronged 
his  brother  —  was  still  wronging  his  brother's 
child ;  and  yet  so  peculiar  is  religious  con- 
viction, that  he  felt  himself  excused  for  it, 
so  long  as  he  believed  in  the  gospel  as 
preached  by  Jones.  And  yet  that  command- 
ment annoyed  him.  Often  he  would  resolve 
not  to  read  it,  and  then  it  gave  him  no  peace 
until  he  did.  It  was  like  a  magnet,  and  out 
of  the  entire  ten  the  one  that  drew  his  eyes 
first.  And  then,  his  solitary,  unsocial,  and 
selfish  life  worked  its  inevitable  result.  He 
grew  more  superstitious,  and  the  fear  that 
Amzi  might  return  in  body  or  spirit  haunted 
him  at  night.  He  saw  him  in  his  dreams, 
imagined  him  peeping  into  the  house  when  a 
board  creaked,  and,  waking  in  the  dead  of 
night,  he  read,  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal  "  glow- 


"THOU   SHALT   NOT   STEAL"  185 

ing  in  the  darkness.  He  grew  timid,  dared 
not  go  alone  to  dark  rooms  for  fear  of  meeting 
Amzi,  and  as  his  mind  became  diseased  from 
brooding  over  the  supernatural,  the  ghost  taint 
increased. 

And  now,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  fears, 
came  the  desire  to  escape  them.  It  followed 
the  call  from  a  stranger  who  sought  to  buy 
his  most  valued  possession,  the  Mizzy  power  — 
in  fact,  a  sequence  to  that.  In  spite  of  his 
conceit,  David  realized  he  had  but  few  friends, 
and  now  to  turn  his  possessions  into  cold  cash 
and  establish  himself  elsewhere  seemed  wise. 
He  had,  in  his  business  dealings,  visited  River- 
ton  often,  and  there  received  more  or  less 
consideration  as  the  wealthiest  resident  of 
Greenvale  —  an  homage  very  sweet  to  him. 
He  would  escape  the  sight  of  old  Cy,  Aunt 
Comfort,  Angie,  and  other  reproaches,  and 
best  of  all,  as  he  imagined,  escape  the  haunt- 
ing fear  of  Amzi. 

Then  came  Martin  with  his  astonishing  pro- 
posal to  buy  the  Mizzy  falls,  and,  during  that 
sharp  bargain-driving,  to  insinuate  facts  and 
dangers  that  gave  David  cold  chills.  It  had 


1 86  THE   HERMIT 

resulted  in  his  securing  two  thousand  dollars, 
and  also  an  addition  to  his  stock  of  worriment 
almost  unbearable.  It  was  a  proposal  and 
payment,  also,  that  David,  shrewd  villain  that 
he  was,  could  not  fathom.  He  had  heard  on 
all  sides  that  Martin  had  returned  to  Green- 
vale  wealthy.  He  knew  of  his  youthful  attach- 
ment to  Angie,  and  his  now  open  and  pointed 
attentions  which  undoubtedly  meant  marriage; 
and  as  if  this  combination  of  danger  was  not 
sufficient,  this  bold  young  man  who  carried  a 
big  roll  of  money  as  if  it  were  a  handkerchief, 
had  hinted  of  Angie's  legal  rights  against  him, 
that  could  most  likely  be  sustained  by  law ! 
And  now,  the  more  David  pondered  over  this 
business  transaction,  the  more  sure  he  was 
that  it  meant  a  lawsuit  later  on.  He  had  the 
two  thousand  dollars  fast  enough,  he  had  signed 
an  agreement  which  in  law  was  almost  as  good 
as  a  warranty  deed;  and  yet,  before  twenty- 
four  hours  had  passed,  so  sure  was  he  that 
he  had  walked  into  a  trap,  that  he  would  have 
gladly  paid  twice  two  thousand  for  the  return 
of  that  agreement. 

His  punishment  had  only  just  begun. 


CHAPTER   XXI 
"SCAR  FACE,  THE  AVENGER" 

NEZER  was  not  a  bad  boy  at  heart.  To  him 
Aunt  Comfort  was  a  rotund  embodiment  of  all 
that  was  good  and  motherly  in  womankind. 
For  her  —  if  within  call  —  he  would  run  his  legs 
off,  and  Angie  was  his  idea  of  what  angels  were. 
He  hated  his  best  clothes  and  church-going 
equally,  minded  Angie  at  school  with  doglike 
humility,  learned  his  lessons  with  surprising 
ease,  and  perpetrated  the  worst  tricks  with  an 
innocent  manner  that  disarmed  punishment. 
He  was  the  terror  of  the  village  when  fruits 
were  ripe,  made  the  life  of  Hans  a  burden,  and 
when  out  of  Aunt  Comfort's  sight,  always  up  to 
some  new  mischief  aimed  at  him.  He  had  fed 
that  phlegmatic  immigrant  red  pepper  deftly 
hid  in  pie,  coaxed  him  to  take  a  noonday  nap 
pillowed  on  a  red  ant-hill,  and  then  when  he 
was  asleep,  stirred  up  those  vicious  insects ;  he 
187 


1 88  THE   HERMIT 

had  caught  an  eel  on  a  set  pole  and  lowered  it 
writhing  on  the  hook  down  inside  Hans's  shirt 
when  again  napping,  and  finally  put  an  active 
snapping  turtle  in  his  bed. 

He  did  all  these  things  out  of  pure  mischief, 
but  against  David  Curtis  he  bore  a  grudge.  It 
dated  from  that  unhappy  epoch  ending  in  a 
bread-and-water  diet,  and  Nezer  missed  no 
chance  to  get  square  with  David.  In  fact  get- 
ting square  with  those  who  injured  him  was  a 
cardinal  point  in  the  boy's  nature.  Another 
thing,  he  was  close  mouthed,  and  secretly  not 
only  plotted  and  planned,  but  afterwards  en- 
joyed his  revenges.  How  much  fruit  he  stole 
from  David's  orchard,  how  often  he  let  bars 
down  and  cows  into  corn-fields,  how  much 
"  garden  sass  "  he  maliciously  destroyed  in  mid- 
night raids,  no  one  but  himself  knew,  and  he 
never  told.  For  years  he  waged  a  guerilla  war- 
fare alone  on  David,  and  then  one  day  sharp 
and  perhaps  deserved  punishment  overtook 
him.  There  was  a  secluded  pool  in  the  upper 
Mizzy  meadow  owned  by  his  enemy,  and  here 
Nezer  and  his  mates  were  wont  to  come  many 
times  each  summer  to  enjoy  a  swim.  To  reach 


"SCAR  FACE,  THE  AVENGER"      189 

it  they  had  to  cross  David's  best  meadow, 
trampling  the  grass  and  quite  destroying  it 
about  the  pool.  It  angered  David,  to  whom 
loss  of  even  grass  was  misery,  and  whenever  he 
caught  them  there,  retribution  with  an  ox-goad 
followed.  They  came  under  cover  of  night, 
however,  and  one  boy  would  take  turn  as  sen- 
tinel and  David  still  suffered.  He  grew  des- 
perate, finally,  and  as  a  last  resort,  drove  stakes 
along  each  bank  of  the  pool  and  then  strung  a 
network  of  barbed  wire  across  under  water. 
It  was  a  merciless  and  altogether  heartless  trap, 
and  fate  decreed,  one  evening,  that  Nezer 
should  be  the  first  and  only  one  to  leap  into  it. 
How  he  suffered,  pierced  in  a  dozen  places  and 
terribly  scratched,  how  his  agonized  screams 
were  keen  joy  to  David,  how  Nezer,  dripping 
blood,  ran  after  the  rest  of  the  boys  and  halted 
not  until  they  reached  safety  and  a  chance  to 
dress  outside  David's  possessions,  need  not  be 
enlarged  upon. 

Nezer  had  mildly  hated  David  before  —  now 
it  was  changed  to  murderous  intensity,  and  his 
only  ambition  was  to  seek  vengeance.  He  took 
none  of  the  boys  into  his  confidence,  but  true  to 


190  THE   HERMIT 

the  thief's  caution,  inherited  from    his  father, 
resolved  to  act  alone. 

And  now  while  David  was  in  sore  distress 
over  Martin  Frisbie's  probable  legal  assault 
and  a  growing  dread  of  ghostly  visitation, 
there  occurred  a  series  of  events  well  calculated 
to  drive  a  superstitious  man  insane.  The  first 
was  to  find  that  every  tool  in  the  sawmill  had 
vanished,  crowbars,  canthooks,  extra  saws, 
hammers,  chains,  were  all  missing  in  the 
morning.  A  new  supply  was  obtained,  and  a 
few  days  later  David  was  awakened  at  mid- 
night to  hear  the  mill  going,  and  a  shower  of 
sparks  flying  from  the  saw  playing  up  and 
down  against  a  crowbar  wedged  in  the  log 
cradle.  Later  the  grist-mill  —  never  locked  — 
was  visited  by  a  ghostly  miller,  and  bags  of 
grain  poured  into  the  raceway,  belts  cut,  and, 
as  a  final  message,  the  gates  raised  and  mill- 
stones found  rumbling  at  early  dawn.  It  was 
no  ghost,  of  course,  even  to  the  superstitious 
mind  of  David,  but  an  enemy  of  the  most 
malicious  sort,  and  yet  the  property  loss  pro- 
duced almost  as  much  suffering  as  an  actual 
spook.  David  locked  and  barred  the  mill 


"SCAR   FACE,  THE  AVENGER"  191 

doors  after  this,  only  to  find  it  useless,  for 
about  once  a  week  the  mill  was  visited  by 
this  unrighteous  enemy,  and  damage  inflicted. 
Then  he  rigged  a  cordon  of  fine  wire  around 
the  grist-mill,  attached  to  doors  and  connecting 
with  his  house,  so  that  any  disturbance  would 
communicate  and  ring  a  bell.  It  worked  to 
the  extent  of  causing  David  and  his  men  to 
rush  to  the  mill  with  lanterns  to  find  the  belts 
again  cut,  and  the  stones  grinding  away,  but 
no  sight  or  sound  of  an  intruder.  Then  other 
depredations  followed.  A  dog  that  had  been 
secured  as  guard  was  found  dead  the  next 
morning  and  swollen  double  from  poison ;  a 
small  raft  of  logs  above  the  falls  were  cut 
loose  and  allowed  to  drift  over  and  land  in 
inextricable  confusion  below ;  stones  took  on 
a  habit  of  entering  the  house  unbidden  through 
windows,  and  at  odd  intervals  other  night 
mischief  was  perpetrated.  Then  the  two  men 
who  boarded  with  David  grew  nervous,  and 
the  old  negress  said,  "  I  'clare  to  gracious, 
dese  premises  is  gittin'  hanted,  V  if  it  doan 
stop,  I'll  quit  here,  suah  's  yo'  born."  She 
was  only  restrained  by  an  increase  in  her 


THE   HERMIT 

wages,  painful  to  David,  and  a  temporary  lull 
in  the  midnight  visits. 

Nezer,  in  addition  to  his  mischief-inventing 
faculties,  also  dearly  loved  to  masquerade. 
He  had  become  the  possessor  of  a  few  dime 
novels,  one  of  which  portrayed  on  the  cover 
a  realistic  picture  of  "  Scar  Face,  the  Avenger," 
and  to  imitate  the  raiment  and  habits  of  this 
savage  was  keen  enjoyment  to  Nezer.  He 
had  fashioned  a  head-dress,  and  crest  of 
turkey  feathers,  obtained  a  hideous  mask, 
and,  having  hidden  these  in  Aunt  Comfort's 
barn,  waited  the  right  and  proper  occasion  to 
exploit  them  in  secret.  To  try  their  effect  on 
Hans  was  too  tame ;  besides  Hans  would  give 
him  away,  and  Nezer,  always  secretive,  had 
grown  wary  with  age.  There  was  no  limit 
to  the  fun  he  planned  to  have  with  that 
blood-curdling  mask  and  head-gear,  but  his 
hero,  Scar  Face,  had  always  swooped  down 
upon  his  victims  unawares,  and  Nezer  felt  he 
must.  He  had  some  time  previous  purloined 
an  old  night-shirt  with  the  intention  of  playing 
ghost  when  Hallowe'en  came.  He  was  also 
an  expert  in  the  use  of  stilts,  and,  nimble  as  a 


"SCAR  FACE,  THE  AVENGER"      193 

squirrel,  could  stride  off  on  them  faster  than 
a  man  could  run.  With  these  accoutrements 
and  a  nature  much  akin  to  the  dime-novel  hero 
he  worshipped,  it  may  be  easily  inferred  that 
Nezer  was  a  combination  quite  likely  to  excite  a 
quiet  village  like  Greenvale. 

And  Nezer  hated  David  Curtis  with  Scar-Face 
ferocity.  For  weeks  David  had  lived  a  miser- 
able existence,  and  worried  as  to  the  outcome 
of  Martin's  supposed  enmity.  He  knew  he 
was  guilty,  and  once  dragged  before  even  the 
most  petty  tribunal  would  have  no  defence, 
but  must  make  restitution  to  his  brother's 
child  and  be  disgraced  as  well.  So  sure  did 
he  feel  this  outcome  was  only  a  matter  of 
time,  he  thought  of  forestalling  it  by  going  to 
Aunt  Comfort  and  offering  her  a  lump  sum 
for  Angie's  past  keep,  and  as  much  for  her 
own  signature  releasing  him  from  all  obligation. 
He  would  have  much  preferred  negotiating 
with  Martin,  but  of  that  young  man's  relations 
with  Angle  he  was  not  at  all  certain,  and 
although  more  humiliating,  it  was  safer  to 
deal  direct  with  the  injured  ones.  He  was 
in  this  quandary  when  his  direct  persecution 


194 


THE   HERMIT 


began,  and  as  that  continued,  it  became  agony 
boiled  down.  To  lose  five  cents  was  misery, 
but  when  the  sum  swelled  to  many  dollars  and 
depredations  were  repeated  night  after  night, 
it  became  a  torment.  Then  his  ghostly  dread 
grew  apace.  With  all  his  vigilance,  and  aided 
by  his  men  taking  turns  watching,  not  once 
had  they  seen  or  heard  aught  that  betokened 
a  flesh-and-blood  visitor.  All  he  knew  was 
that  sometime  in  the  night  some  one  visited 
his  mills,  wrought  malicious  mischief,  and 
vanished.  It  was  for  revenge  beyond  question, 
but  by  whom,  and  for  what  ?  Was  it  some  one 
in  the  village,  or  was  it  a  stranger  hiding  in 
the  woods  by  day,  and  stealing  on  to  his  prem- 
ises by  night  like  an  Indian  wreaking  swift, 
unerring  vengeance  ? 

For  weeks  also  David  had  not  known  one 
moment  of  peace  or  one  hour  of  untroubled 
sleep.  Not  trusting  his  men  even,  he  had  kept 
watch  himself,  ready  to  sally  forth  at  any 
sound,  and  when  the  depredations  ceased,  he 
still  kept  on  expecting  them.  For  a  week  this 
vigil  continued,  and  then  one  night,  half  asleep 
and  partially  clad,  David  caught  the  sharp 


"SCAR  FACE,  THE  AVENGER"      195 

thud  of  a  small  stone  thrown  against  his  house, 
and  bounding  out  heard  the  low  rumble  of  the 
stones  in  the  grist-mill  across  the  Mizzy.  The 
moon,  a  week  past  its  full,  had  just  risen,  and 
as  David  paused  a  moment  on  the  steps  to 
listen,  he  noted  how  the  mills,  the  trees,  the 
bridge  across  the  Mizzy,  and  the  falls  just  above, 
seemed  ghostly  in  the  spectral  light.  It  was 
dreadful,  and  those  loud  rumbling  millstones 
more  so.  But  revenge  and  greed  conquered 
fear,  and,  keeping  always  in  shadow,  and  stoop- 
ing as  he  walked,  he  started  for  the  grist-mill. 
The  trees  gave  partial  concealment  until  the 
bridge  was  reached,  and  here  he  halted  to  listen 
once  again.  And  what  a  weird,  midnight  scene 
it  was,  with  the  falls  white  in  the  moonlight, 
not  ten  rods  away,  their  voice  half  concealing 
the  rumbling  millstones'  deeper  sounds,  while 
all  about  the  spectral  shadows  of  the  trees 
reached  out  to  meet  him.  One  moment  only 
he  paused,  and  then,  still  crouching,  crept  for- 
ward step  by  step  down  the  little  incline  beyond 
the  bridge,  across  the  mill  sluice,  now  filled 
with  rushing  water,  then  turning  to  the  left  up 
the  driveway  to  the  mill.  Each  step  a  little 


196  THE  HERMIT 

slower,  as  he  drew  near,  and  a  loud  thumping 
of  pulse  that  beat  upon  his  brain.  And  then, 
again,  pausing  with  a  sense  of  deathly  fear,  his 
mouth  and  eyes  wide  open  —  slowly,  very  slowly, 
from  behind  the  mill,  advanced  a  horrible  some- 
thing, with  white  ghostly  body  and  hideous, 
leering  face,  above  which  waved  a  crest  of 
feathers. 

One  moment  only  David  stared  transfixed 
with  horror  at  the  awful  apparition,  twice  as 
tall  as  a  man,  and  then,  as  it  strode  toward  him 
with  giant  steps,  he  sank  to  the  ground  uncon- 
scious. 

Nezer  was  avenged ! 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A   SHOCK   TO    GREENVALE 

AUNT  COMFORT  was  paring  apples,  Hannah 
putting  away  the  breakfast  dishes,  Angie,  with 
sleeves  up,  disclosing  rounded  arms,  was  wash- 
ing a  panful  of  green  pickles  Nezer  had  just 
brought  in,  when  Aunt  Lorey  burst  into  the 
kitchen.  "David  Curtis  was  took  with  a  fit 
last  night,"  she  gasped,  "'n'  he's  gone  ravin' 
crazy.  Some  on  'em  heered  him  hollerin'  like  a 
loon  'bout  midnight,  'n'  the  next,  he  rushed  into 
the  house  screamin',  '  O  Lord,  Lord,  save  me ! ' 
They  had  to  tie  him  hand  and  foot  'n'  Dr. 
Sol  says  he's  gone  clean  daft !  "  And  having 
delivered  this  astonishing  message,  she  sank 
into  a  chair,  fanning  herself  with  her  apron. 

"  For  the  land's  sake !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Com- 
fort, dropping  her  paring-knife,  and  staring  at  the 
caller  with  open  mouth,  while  Angie  turned  in 
mute  astonishment,  her  hands  full  of  wet  pickles. 
No  one  observed  that  Nezer  suddenly  vanished. 
197 


198  THE   HERMIT 

"  And  what  was  the  cause  on  't,"  continued 
Aunt  Comfort,  eagerly,  "  'n'  is  he  likely  to  die  ?  " 

"  Nobody  seems  to  know,"  responded  Aunt 
Lorey,  "  he  was  just  took,  that  was  all,  'n'  what  he 
was  doin'  out  o'  the  house  that  time  o'  night  is  a 
myst'ry.  They  found  the  grist-mill  goin"  an'  the 
men  say  'tain't  the  fust  time  that  somebody's  been 
prowlin'  round  there  nights  for  weeks  back." 

And  this  was  a  fair  sample  of  the  recital  that 
spread  like  wild-fire  over  Greenvale  that  August 
morn.  It  had  been  known  that  strange  happen- 
ings had  occurred  up  at  the  Curtis  place,  that 
some  enemy  had  made  nightly  visits  there, 
stealing  and  destroying  with  evident  malice,  but 
who,  and  for  what  special  reason,  no  one  knew. 
Some  said  it  was  just  compensation  for  his 
many  and  well-known  acts  of  meanness,  a  few 
ascribed  it  to  supernatural  causes,  and  one  or 
two  hinted  that  Amzi,  half  demented,  might  have 
escaped  from  some  asylum  and  returned  to  thus 
avenge  himself.  This  latter  surmise,  however, 
seemed  so  unreasonable  that  no  one  believed  it. 

"  He  has  brain  fever,"  was  the  explicit  in- 
formation Dr.  Sol  had  imparted  that  after- 
noon, when  he  called  at  Aunt  Comfort's,  "aiv.l 


A   SHOCK  TO   GREENVALE  199 

his  mind  is  deranged.  It  was  brought  on,  no 
doubt,  by  some  sudden  fright  while  out  watch- 
ing for  this  night  visitor.  He  may  recover  and 
he  may  not.  His  age  is  against  him." 

"  I  s'pose  we  oughter  go  thar  and  try  to  do 
somethin',"  Aunt  Comfort  asserted  to  Angie 
later  on.  "  He's  been  livin'  like  a  hyena  all 
these  years,  with  that  wench  doin'  the  cookin',  'n' 
'twon't  do  to  let  him  die  that  way.  He's  your 
uncle,  in  spite  o'  his  meanness." 

And  in  thus  rising  above  all  sense  of  injury 
and  personal  feeling,  Aunt  Comfort  showed  her 
broad  and  truly  Christian  charity. 

But  Angie  was  not  so  ready  to  respond.  Her 
own  early  sorrow,  the  humiliation  she  had  en- 
dured, the  long-continued  self-denials,  the  many 
times  she  had  met  her  uncle  well  wrapped  in  a 
buffalo  robe  when  she  had  to  step  out  into  the 
deep  snow  and  let  him  pass,  the  countless  times 
she  had  watched  his  hypocritical  face  in  church, 
knowing  he  had  been  and  was  robbing  her  of 
her  heritage,  had  sunk  deep  into  her  heart,  and 
her  first  thought  was,  "  Let  him  die  alone  like 
a  dog ;  he  deserves  it !  " 

But   Aunt   Comfort  was   a  beacon   light  of 


20O  THE   HERMIT 

goodness  and  homely  sense  to  her  and  she 
made  no  protest,  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
these  two  angels  of  mercy  took  themselves  to 
the  cheerless  home  of  David  Curtis  for  the 
first  time  in  many  years. 

And  Aunt  Lorey  —  who  never  missed  attend- 
ing all  the  funerals  occurring  in  Greenvale,  and 
was  said  to  enjoy  them — also  accompanied  these 
two,  possibly  expecting  a  funeral  in  this  case. 

"  It's  only  good  nursing  that  will  save  him," 
asserted  Dr.  Sol  that  night  to  Aunt  Com- 
fort, "but  it's  an  outrage  for  you  and  Angie  to 
stay  here.  He  isn't  worth  it.  Better  let  me 
hire  some  one." 

But  Aunt  Comfort  persisted,  and  all  that  long 
night  they  ministered  to  their  patient,  tossing, 
groaning,  and  occasionally  screaming  in  fever- 
ish delirium. 

And  what  a  tragic  revelation  of  guilty  con- 
science and  supernatural  fear  it  was  to  them, 
for  the  sick  man,  in  his  delirious  mutterings, 
lived  over  and  recited  all  the  dread  fears  and  the 
agony  of  mind  he  had  endured  for  many  weeks. 

First  it  was  his  plans  and  projects,  then  his 
greedy  hope  of  obtaining  thirty  thousand  dol- 


A  SHOCK  TO  GREENVALE  2OI 

Jars,  and  then  his  suspicion  of  Martin ;  sure  he 
was  an  implacable  enemy  and  bound  to  rob  him 
for  Angie.  Mixed  in  with  this  were  comments 
on  Martin's  intentions  toward  her,  and  his  own 
half -formed  intentions  to  make  restitution;  a 
hodge-podge  of  disconnected  statements,  but 
through  it  all  ran  a  thread  of  ghostly  dread  — it 
was  Amzi  lurking  in  the  woods,  Amzi  perched 
on  the  mill,  Amzi  hiding  in  shadow,  Amzi  steal- 
ing tools,  cutting  belts,  doing  this  and  that,  but 
always  Amzi,  an  enemy  and  a  terror. 

At  times  the  delirious  man  would  try  to  leap 
out  of  bed,  screaming  with  deadly  fear,  and  it 
was  all  one  of  his  men  who  had  stood  by  could 
do  to  hold  him  down.  As  for  the  old  negress, 
the  spookish  drama  had  at  the  outset  proven 
too  much  for  her,  and  she  had  taken  refuge  at 
a  neighbor's.  In  his  dire  extremity,  a  helpless, 
delirious,  suffering  wretch,  and  the  richest  man  in 
Greenvale  —  the  only  ones  who  took  pity  on  him 
and  came  to  his  succor  were  those  whom  he  had 
wronged  most.  And  what  shame  and  humiliation 
it  was  to  Aunt  Comfort  and  Angie  to  sit  by  and 
hear  the  dry  bones  of  their  family  skeleton  thus 
rattled  about  before  others  need  not  be  specified. 


202  THE   HERMIT 

With  daylight  came  a  change,  for  the  fever 
slowly  yielded  to  Aunt  Comfort's  "arbs"  and 
the  doctor's  pills,  and  the  sick  man  began  to 
doze.  It  had  been  a  night  experience  the  like 
of  which  Angie  at  least  had  never  known,  and 
almost  as  tragic  a  one  to  Aunt  Comfort.  But 
there  was  one  touch  of  satisfaction  in  it,  for  as 
they,  leaving  Aunt  Lorey  in  charge,  were  about 
to  depart,  some  strange  intuition  came  to  their 
patient,  for  he  suddenly  sat  bolt  upright  and 
looked  at  them  with  horrified  but  sane  eyes 
Only  a  moment,  and  then,  muttering  "  My  God, 
is  it  you  ? "  he  sank  back  upon  his  pillow. 

Aunt  Comfort  came  back  that  night  bringing 
jellies,  and  relieving  Aunt  Lorey  while  she 
cooked  broth  and  nursed  the  still  very  sick 
man,  and  later  Angie  came  bringing  freshly 
cut  flowers,  but  remaining  only  a  moment. 
She  would  not  speak  to  or  look  at  David,  but 
she  would  show  him  so  much  of  kindly  thought 
and  pity  —  and  that  was  all.  That  long  night 
of  insane  raving,  disclosing  so  much  and  re- 
opening so  many  of  her  own  wounds,  had  been 
too  much  for  her,  and  she  could  no  more  con- 
verse with  the  man  who  had  so  wronged  her 


A   SHOCK  TO   GREENVALE  2O3 

father  and  then  herself  than  she  could  with  a 
murderer.  Neither  did  David  die,  though  many 
in  the  village  felt  it  would  be  a  wise  dispensa- 
tion of  Providence  if  he  should,  and  Aunt  Lorey 
missed  the  expected  excitement  of  a  funeral; 
not  that  she  really  wanted  even  the  much-de- 
spised David  to  die  —  far  from  it ;  but  she 
was  a  peculiar  body,  unlike  any  one  else  in 
Greenvale,  and  funerals  furnished  her  a  cer- 
tain excitement,  much  akin  to  pleasure.  She 
was  ever  ready  to  nurse  the  sick,  she  would 
join  her  tears  with  all  mourners  when  the  end 
came ;  she  would  work  gladly,  —  wash,  bake, 
and  cook  all  manner  of  edibles  for  out-of-town 
relations ;  she  was  useful  at  arranging  flowers 
and  other  necessary  adjuncts  to  such  events ; 
she  listened  interestedly,  and  always  remem- 
bered all  the  minister  said,  and,  to  adapt  an  ex- 
pression once  applied  to  Amzi  Curtis  by  Cy 
Walker,  she  was  "handy  at  funerals." 

But  of  David's  sudden  and  mysterious  ill- 
ness and  its  outcome  Dr.  Sol's  remark  to 
Martin  will  best  reflect  the  village  verdict,  and 
must  be  quoted. 

"  I  never  knew  of  such  a  complete  case  of 


204  THE  HERMIT 

heaping  coals  of  fire,"  he  said,  "and  such  an 
object  lesson  in  forgiving  as  Aunt  Comfort  and 
Angie  have  meted  out  to  that  old  skinflint. 
What  he  thought  and  felt  when  he  came  to 
his  senses  and  saw  those  two  beside  his  bed 
would  have  made  a  better  text  than  any  the 
Reverend  Jones  ever  found  in  the  Bible.  But 
what  caused  his  illness  is  a  mystery  quite  beyond 
me.  By  all  reports,  his  premises  have  been 
haunted  by  some  malicious  night  visitor,  and 
David  must  have  gone  out  and  met  him." 

It  was  many  days  ere  Aunt  Comfort  and 
her  assistant  nurse  could  leave  the  sick  man, 
and  then  he  had  to  "  persuade "  Aunt  Lorey, 
by  means  of  liberal  compensation,  to  remain 
and  act  as  housekeeper,  for  the  colored  woman 
would  no  more  set  foot  again  in  "  dat  hanted  " 
house  than  in  a  den  of  lions. 

But  the  mystery  remained  and  grew  to  a 
seven  times  seven  days'  wonder  in  Greenvale. 
And  strange  to  say,  a  story  began  to  circulate 
that  David  had  seen  his  brother  in  the  woods 
above  the  falls,  and  that  it  was  meeting  him 
that  night  in  the  mill  that  had  caused  the  shock. 
Whether  this  tale  started  from  Aunt  Lorey's 


A   SHOCK  TO   GREENVALE  205 

report  of  David's  ravings,  or  from  old  Cy's 
assertions  that  Amzi  would  return  soon  or  late, 
no  one  knew.  It  became  current  gossip,  how- 
ever, in  a  short  time,  and  so  excited  was  Green- 
vale  over  it  that  a  searching  party  of  men  and 
boys  was  organized,  and  the  entire  length  and 
breadth  of  Mizzy  swamp  and  the  adjacent 
woods  for  many  miles  was  thoroughly  exam- 
ined. It  availed  nothing,  of  course,  except  to 
retard  David's  recovery  and  cause  him  to  con- 
tinue in  the  same  unhappy  state  of  worriment 
as  before  his  shock.  He  also  had  to  close  the 
grist-mill,  for  the  man.  who  acted  as  miller 
was  a  trifle  superstitious  and  obtained  other 
employment.  It  was  no  concern  of  his,  of 
course,  and  yet  the  fact  that  some  night  visitor 
was  like  to  come  there  again  was  spookish  at 
best,  and  there  was  the  suspicion  that  a  long- 
ago  dead  man  might  any  moment  bob  up  out 
of  some  bin  or  stalk  out  of  a  dark  corner.  But 
the  ghost  manifestations  ceased,  for  Nezer  was 
too  much  scared  by  the  hubbub  he  had  created, 
and  having  hid  his  Scar-Face  raiment,  kept  his 
secret  to  himself  like  a  wise  boy,  and  the 
mystery  remained  unsolved. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SUNDAY   EVENING 

IN  Greenvale,  as  in  all  rural  towns,  Sunday 
evening  was  "sparking  night,"  when  lads  and 
lassies  put  on  their  very  best,  the  front  parlor 
was  given  up  to  Jane  or  Huldah,  their  swains 
allowed  all  possible  chance  to  reach  popping 
point,  and  the  old  folks  kept  shady.  As  a  rule 
all  the  young  folks  gathered  separately  at  the 
church,  and  when  service  was  over,  each  rustic 
Romeo  hurried  to  the  porch  to  there  await  his 
heart's  desire,  and  when  the  smiling  maids 
"  like  snowbirds  willing  to  be  mated "  ap- 
peared, faced  the  music  with  beating  heart 
to  receive  joy  supreme  or  the  mitten.  Only 
engaged  couples  walked  to  the  sanctuary  to- 
gether, and  to  do  so  was  a  tacit  admission  of 
betrothal. 

It  was  this  solecism  on  Martin's  part  on  his 
first  Sunday  evening  that  caused  Angie  so 
206 


SUNDAY   EVENING  2O? 

much  embarrassment.  He  had  not  repeated  it ; 
in  fact,  so  uncertain  was  he  of  his  ground  with 
her  that  he  had  avoided  Sunday  evening  church 
attendance  almost  entirely  afterwards. 

By  the  time  the  excitement  caused  by  David's 
night  scare  and  almost  fatal  illness  had  sub- 
sided, Martin  had  made  some  slight  advance  in 
Angie's  favor.  She  had  been  left  alone  a  good 
deal,  and  he  had  seized  his  chances.  She  also 
seemed  to  grow  more  cordial,  and  by  degrees 
her  cool  reserve  melted  away.  When  Sunday 
evening  came  again,  Martin,  recalling  Green- 
vale's  social  custom,  resolved  on  a  bold  stroke, 
and  calling  early,  invited  her  to  join  him  church- 
ward. For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  knowing 
full  well  what  would  be  thought  of  it,  and  then, 
as  an  extra  shade  of  pink  crept  into  her  face, 
consented.  When  the  bell  began  to  call,  she 
joined  him  on  the  porch,  dressed  in  spotless 
muslin,  a  solitary  rose  her  only  ornament,  and, 
as  Aunt  Comfort  would  say,  "lookin"  sweet 
enough  to  eat."  And  well  might  Martin  feel 
proud,  for  no  fairer  maid  ever  blessed  a  lover's 
eyes.  For  two  months  now,  though  they  had 
met  often,  no  mention  had  been  made  of  the 


208  THE   HERMIT 

past.  He  had  essayed  it  at  first,  but  soon  saw 
it  to  be  unwise,  and  yet  maybe  that  old-time 
illusion,  like  the  sound  of  bells  now  calling 
them,  had  never  ceased  to  vibrate  in  their 
hearts.  We  are  moved  by  subtile  influences, 
and  memory  is  ofttimes  awakened  by  the  veri- 
est trifle.  The  odor  of  a  certain  flower,  a  strain 
of  music,  the  sighing  of  the  breeze  in  the  pines, 
even  the  croaking  of  a  frog  in  springtime,  will 
carry  us  back  over  a  lifetime  in  an  instant. 

Only  a  few  years,  comparatively,  separated 
the  lives  of  these  two,  —  very  short  to  him,  but 
long  and  weary  to  her.  She  had  much  to  for- 
give, but  like  many  another  patient  woman  who 
goes  through  life  silently  forgiving  an  erring 
husband,  so  maybe  had  she  now  forgiven  a 
lover's  desertion. 

And  very  sweet  the  church  bells  sounded  to 
Martin,  for  now  the  fairest  and  dearest  of  all 
earth's  womankind  was  walking  beside  him  in  a 
journey  that  was  a  tacit  confession. 

There  were  speaking  glances  exchanged  be- 
tween matrons  and  maids  in  that  Sunday  even- 
ing gathering,  and  whispered  "  I  told  you  so's," 
while  the  white-haired  parson  searched  for  his 


SUNDAY  EVENING 

chapter.  The  congregation  arose  and  sang  as 
usual,  Angle  joining,  while  Martin  covertly 
watched  her,  feeling  proud.  And  when  both 
bowed  with  the  rest  to  receive  dismissal,  and 
then  walked  away  in  the  balmy  August  even- 
ing, it  seemed  to  him  he  ought  to  enclose  her  in 
one  strong  arm,  lest  she  escape. 

When  the  lane  that  crossed  the  Mizzy  was 
reached,  Martin  halted.  "  Let's  go  down  to  the 
old  red  bridge,"  he  said,  and  without  a  word 
Angie  turned  with  him. 

It  was  a  secluded  as  well  as  a  pretty  spot ;  a 
group  of  willows  shaded  one  end  of  the  bridge 
and  a  pile  of  worn-out  planks ;  below,  the  stream 
broadened  into  a  wide  pool  and  beside  it  grew 
sweet  flag.  It  had  been  one  of  their  old-time 
trysting  places,  oft  visited  to  gather  flag  and 
watch  the  moon's  reflection  in  the  pool. 

"  I  have  a  picnic  plan  to  suggest,"  continued 
Martin,  as  they  slowly  strolled  down  the  lane, 
"  which  is  for  you,  Aunt  Comfort,  and  Hannah, 
and  the  doctor  and  wife  to  join  me  in  a  day's 
outing.  I  know  a  little  nook  way  up  the  Mizzy 
where  we  can  go,  and  I'll  cook  you  a  real 
backwood  dinner." 


2IO  THE   HERMIT 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  go,"  responded  Angle, 
with  interest,  "and  I'm  sure  it  would  be  delight- 
ful. I've  heard  so  much  about  wilderness  life 
this  summer  that  I'd  love  to  see  how  you  cook 
in  the  woods." 

But  this  picnic  plan,  while  it  promised  much 
pleasure,  was  really  of  slight  interest  to  Martin, 
compared  to  another  matter ;  and  while  they  dis- 
cussed it  all  the  way  to  the  bridge,  he  was  think- 
ing of  who  it  was  that  had  scared  David  Curtis 
into  delirium,  and  whether  Angie  was  likely  to 
resent  his  supposed  interference  in  her  affairs. 

"  I  feel  I  owe  you  an  explanation,  Angie,"  he 
said  directly,  —  they  were  seated  on  the  old 
familiar  pile  of  weather-worn  planks.  "  As  you 
may  have  heard,  I  have  an  inclination  for  trout 
culture,  and  one  day  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I 
could  buy  the  Mizzy  swamp  and  falls  of  David 
Curtis  at  a  reasonable  price,  it  would  not  only 
be  a  good  investment  but  make  me  a  splendid 
fish-pond.  I  called  on  him,  secured  an  option 
on  it,  and  paid  him  something  down.  I  found 
also  that  another  party  has  been  trying  to  buy 
him  out,  for  pulp-mill  purposes.  Now  comes 
another  matter,  which  is  all  a  mystery  to  me. 


SUNDAY   EVENING  211 

First,  as  we  all  know,  some  enemy  of  his  visits 
his  premises  nightly.  David  must  have  re- 
ceived an  awful  shock,  and,  in  the  delirious  fever 
following  it,  he  accused  me  of  plotting  against 
him  and  in  your  behalf.  It  may  and  must  be 
the  result  of  a  guilty  conscience,  but  up  till  now 
I  am  innocent  of  what  he  charges." 

"  I've  heard  it  all,  of  course,"  answered  Angie, 
in  a  constrained  voice,  "  and  while  it  is  painful 
to  have  a  family  skeleton  become  public  gossip, 
I  am  relieved  by  what  you  tell  me." 

"  I  wish,"  continued  Martin,  hesitating,  "  I 
wish  you  would  consent  to  let  me  do  something 
for  you  in  this  matter.  I  know  the  whole  story 
and  how  you  have  been  wronged,  and  —  and 
how  you  have  gone  on  all  these  years,  bravely 
earning  your  own  way,  and  now  believe  me,  I 
want  to  be  your  friend,  and  big  brother,  and 
help  you  to  your  rights.  Won't  you  let  me  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  earnestness  and  deep  feeling, 
every  word  of  which  vibrated  with  love  and 
tenderness,  but  Angie  remained  silent  for  a 
moment.  In  fact  she  was  having  a  hard  strug- 
gle with  her  own  feelings. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  she  replied  at 


212  THE   HERMIT 

last,  swallowing  a  lump,  "but  I  can't  consent  — 
not  now.  I  feel  as  Aunt  Comfort  does,  that 
some  day  God  will  see  all  wrongs  righted,  and 
maybe  mine,  but  I  do  not  want  them  gossiped 
about  any  more  than  they  are  now.  I  thank 
you,  though,  with  all  my  heart." 

Then,  as  she  turned  toward  him,  her  face 
ethereal  in  the  moonlight,  "  With  eyes  kinder 
teary  and  lips  kinder  smiley,"  Martin  almost 
lost  his  head  in  a  sudden  impulse  to  gather  her 
close  and  whisper  loving  words. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  into  those  misty 
eyes,  and  then,  lest  heart  conquer  head,  he  rose 
from  his  seat.  "I'm  going  to  get  you  some 
sweet  flag,"  he  said,  "in  memory  of  the  old 
times  when  we  used  to  come  here." 

And  when  he  —  oblivious  to  the  soft  banks 
that  soiled  his  boots  —  had  gathered  an  armful 
of  long,  green  shoots,  and  the  two  stood  on  the 
bridge,  he  selecting  those  with  buds,  while  she 
ate  them,  throwing  the  stalks  into  the  stream  be- 
low, somehow  there  and  then  the  old  sweet 
dream  crept  into  her  heart  once  more,  and  all 
the  years  that  intervened  seemed  to  fade  away. 

What  they  spoke  of  now  mattered  not;  the 


1  WlLL    YOU    FORGIVE    ME    ALL    THESE    YEARS    OF   NEGLECT?" Page    213 


SUNDAY   EVENING  213 

moon  smiling  in  the  pool  below,  the  green  flag 
shoots  floating  down  the  slow  current,  the  whip- 
poor-wills  calling  in  the  near-by  woods,  were  seen 
and  heard  as  in  a  trance.  When  they  turned 
from  this  spot,  so  fraught  with  tender  memories, 
and  Martin  drew  her  arm  within  his,  still  retain- 
ing the  hand  he  clasped,  she  made  no  protest. 

When  her  home  and  the  shading  maples  were 
reached,  they  paused  a  moment  at  the  gate,  he 
still  holding  the  hand  she  had  yielded  and 
softly  stroking  it. 

"  Angie,"  he  whispered  at  last,  "can  you,  will 
you  forgive  me  all  these  years  of  neglect  but 
not  forgetfulness,  and  let  us  begin  where  we 
left  off;  will  you?" 

"  I  will  try,"  she  answered  gently.  And  as 
he  attempted  to  clasp  her  waist,  she  drew  away. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  she  whispered. 

When  she  entered  the  sitting  room,  Aunt 
Comfort  was  beside  the  window  in  her  high- 
backed,  wooden  rocker,  watching  the  moonlit 
meadows. 

"Why,  auntie,"  she  exclaimed,  "why  haven't 
you  gone  to  bed  ? " 

"  I  was  waitin'  for  you,  my  child,"  responded 


214  THE   HERMIT 

Aunt  Comfort,  rising,  and  then,  looking  down 
into  Angie's  eyes,  tender  in  the  soft  light,  she 
stooped  and  kissed  her.  To  Angie  it  seemed 
like  a  benediction.  It  was,  but  Aunt  Comfort 
had  been  thinking  of  that  faded  blouse  and 
rusty  sword  hanging  in  her  attic  chamber. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

VILLAGE    GOSSIP 

MARTIN'S  return  to  Greenvale,  his  reputed 
wealth,  and  his  pointed  attention  to  his  boy- 
hood sweetheart,  resulting  in  the  two  practically 
confessing  how  matters  stood  by  walking  to 
church  together,  made  one  of  the  waves  of 
gossip  now  sweeping  across  that  village.  It 
was  the  most  charming  one  and  fraught  with 
good  wishes  also,  for  Angie  had  many  warm 
friends  there,  and  her  silent  endurance  of  a 
well-known  wrong,  her  self-helpful,  guileless 
life,  kindly  sympathy  for  others'  troubles,  and 
sunny  nature,  had  endeared  her  to  all.  None 
envied  her  the  good  luck  that  seemed  coming 
her  way,  and  if  she  had  heard  all  the  words 
of  praise  and  good-will,  now  so  freely  uttered 
on  all  sides,  it  would  have  gladdened  her 
heart. 

Martin  was  also  the  object  of  much  com- 
ment and  some  praise,  and  his  every  act  was 


2l6  THE   HERMIT 

known  by  all  the  next  day.  He  had  openly 
declared  that  he  might  settle  in  Greenvale,  and 
had  had  men  working  all  summer  clearing  up 
the  valley  of  the  brook  that  ran  through  his 
old  home  farm  —  now  owned  by  him.  A 
dam  had  been  erected  at  a  convenient  point, 
and  a  small  three-roomed  house  built  at  the 
foot  of  a  knoll  overlooking  this  valley.  Whom 
that  was  for  was  a  mystery,  and  when  some  one 
ventured  to  ask  Martin,  he  smilingly  answered, 
"  I  may  live  there  and  keep  bachelor's  hall 
when  Dr.  Sol  gets  tired  of  me." 

As  Martin  had  discussed  plans  and  cost 
of  a  new  dwelling,  on  the  site  of  his  old 
home,  this  was  known  to  be  an  evasion,  and 
the  general  verdict  was  that  his  action  and 
house  building  only  waited  on  Angle's  naming 
a  wedding-day. 

There  was  another  wave  of  gossip,  less 
charming,  which  centred  upon  David  Curtis 
and  the  mystery  of  his  fright,  and  a  fearsome 
tale  it  grew  to  be. 

The  story  that  Amzi  had  been  seen  in  the 
woods  above  the  falls,  culminating  in  a  search- 
ing party  which  made  no  discovery,  removed 


VILLAGE  GOSSIP 

that  possibility  and  left  only  the  ghostly  one 
to  fall  back  upon,  and  that  was  explicit 

Few  in  Greenvale  believed  in  ghosts,  how- 
ever, and  yet  David,  when  he  recovered,  de- 
clared he  had  seen  a  most  horrible  one.  He 
described  it  as  a  gigantic  Indian  clothed  in 
white,  who  had  leaped  out  from  behind  the 
grist-mill  and  had  felled  him  to  the  earth  with 
one  blow.  When  he  recovered,  he  declared  the 
monster  savage  stood  leering  at  him,  and  that 
was  all  he  remembered. 

The  hired  man's  account  of  the  matter  was 
different.  He  asserted  that  he  had  been  awak- 
ened by  a  blood-curdling  scream  for  help,  and 
rushed  out  of  the  house  to  find  David  on  his 
knees  beside  the  porch,  groaning  as  if  in  awful 
agony.  He  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  aught 
of  ghost  or  Indian,  and  yet  every  one  believed 
some  weird  creature  or  else  some  night  prowler 
must  have  been  there. 

Old  Cy,  however,  added  fuel  to  the  ghostly 
flame.  He  had  been  the  leader  of  the  search- 
ing party,  piloting  them  into  dark  ravines  and 
around  moss-coated  ledges  where  the  sun  never 
shone. 


2l8  THE   HERMIT 

"  It's  a  ghost  fast  enuff  that  skeered  David," 
he  kept  asserting,  "  'n'  we  ain't  like  to  find  it 
here.  It's  only  them  ez  is  guilty  that  sees  'em, 
'n'  David  ain't  done  yit.  .I've  allers  held  Amzi's 
alive,  'n'  I  don't  give  it  up,  'n'  when  he  comes  back, 
I'd  be  fust  to  know  it.  Depend  on  't  it's  a 
spirit  hidin'  'round  David's  premises,  'n'  he'll 
see  it  agin,"  and  the  old  man  smiled  to  himself, 
for  he  knew  what  no  one  else  did. 

Prophecy  from  such  a  man  as  old  Cy,  who 
found  satisfaction  in  stalking  about  alone  in 
the  woods  day  after  day,  was  to  many  almost 
the  same  as  seeing  a  ghost  themselves. 

Another  wave  of  gossip  and  one  almost  as 
astounding  as  the  ghost  tales  was  the  story 
that  Martin  had  bought  the  Mizzy  power  and 
lands  above,  was  to  erect  a  large  pulp-mill 
there,  and  also  would,  as  soon  as  he  and  Angie 
were  married,  bring  suit  against  David  for 
her  inherited  rights.  The  latter  part,  not  un- 
naturally, produced  even  more  satisfaction  than 
the  likelihood  of  Angie's  obtaining  a  rich  hus- 
band. 

It  is  fortunate  that  little  of  this  gossip 
reached  the  most  interested  parties,  for  it 


VILLAGE  GOSSIP  2 19 

might  have  detracted  from  the  new  happiness 
they  were  sharing,  besides  Martin  had  other 
vexations.  To  right  the  lifelong  wrongs  of 
Angie,  even  against  her  wishes,  seemed  a 
bounden  duty.  He  had  taken  one  trick  in 
this  game  of  justice  by  securing  an  option 
and  preventing  David  from  selling  his  prop- 
erty, for  one  year  at  least;  the  next  was  to 
take  old  Cy  into  the  wilderness  and  secure 
proof  conclusive  that  the  hermit  was  Angie's 
father;  that  was  trick  number  two  in  this 
game ;  the  third  and  winning  one,  Angie  her- 
self. The  second  seemed  certain,  the  third 
a  question,  and  one  that  made  his  pulse  leap 
unduly  when  he  considered  it. 

Then  again  going  into  the  wilderness  meant 
leaving  Angie  for  a  month  or  more,  and  just 
now  he  wanted  to  see  her  every  day  if  pos- 
sible. 

Another  trouble  and  really  the  most  serious 
of  all  was  —  suppose  this  hermit  refused  to 
leave  his  wilderness  home  and  return  to 
Greenvale  at  all?  And  if  he  did,  would  not 
the  care  of  such  a  half-demented,  misanthropic 
man,  result  in  more  shame  and  humiliation 


220  THE   HERMIT 

to  Angle  than  Martin  ever  dreamed?  It  was 
in  a  way  a  most  selfish  thought ;  for  he  knew 
if  such  a  denouement  came  about,  Angie 
would  never  shrink  from  her  duty  one  moment. 
He  could  not  if  he  would,  withhold  from  her 
what  he  expected  to  find,  after  he  proved  it 
true  and  returned  and  yet  —  he  hesitated. 

He  wanted  Angie;  her  happiness  and 
future  were  now  more  to  him  than  his  own,  his 
money  even,  but  so  many  pawns  on  life's 
chessboard,  every  thousand  of  which  he  would 
spend  for  her  health  and  happiness,  but  was 
he  not  about  to  open  a  grave  ? 

There  were  none  he  dared  confide  in,  not 
even  to  the  extent  of  a  theoretical  query ; 
in  himself  alone  rested  the  judge  and  jury  of 
this  momentous  question,  and  well  might  he 
hesitate. 

There  are  turning-points  on  life's  highway 
where  even  the  wisest  are  forced  to  close 
their  eyes  and  let  chance  guide  their  steps 
onward. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

A    TASTE    OF    WOOD    LIFE 

THE  apple  orchards  scattered  over  Green- 
vale  were  bending  with  ripe  fruit,  the  farmers 
cutting  rowen,  maples  growing  yellow,  and 
the  date  for  all  schools  to  open  only  two 
days  away,  when  Martin  carried  out  his 
picnic  project.  So  anxious  was  he  to  please 
and  surprise  Angie,  that  he  visited  the  spot 
selected  the  day  before,  taking  old  Cy  along 
to  help  make  ready.  It  was  a  pretty  glade, 
some  four  miles  up  the  Mizzy,  reached  by 
an  old  wood  road,  and  here  that  stream,  some- 
what reduced,  ran  close  to  a  moss-clad  rock 
wall  on  one  side,  while  spreading  oaks  shaded 
the  greensward  along  the  other.  When  the 
two  men  had  cut  away  the  scattered  under- 
growth, set  up  an  outdoor  fireplace  of  stones, 
and  erected  a  small  table  out  of  boards  they  had 
brought,  old  Cy  made  a  suggestion. 

221 


222  THE   HERMIT 

"Ye  want  a  wigwam,"  he  said,  "to  make 
it  nat'ral  like,  'n'  to  seem  ez  tho'  ye  was 
really  livin'  in  the  woods,"  and  then  to  com- 
plete the  effect,  the  two  set  about  its  erection. 
It  was  no  small  task  to  cut  and  fetch  poles 
enough,  set  them  up,  and  finally  thatch  the 
affair  with  small  hemlock  boughs,  but  when 
the  conical  hut  was  done,  all  that  was  needed 
to  complete  the  picture  was  a  lakelet  near 
by,  a  canoe,  and  an  Indian  just  landing. 

"  It  orter  please  her,"  observed  old  Cy, 
scanning  it  critically,  "  'n'  it'll  give  a  sorter 
Injin  tech  to  the  spot." 

"  I'm  glad  we  thought  of  it,"  rejoined  Martin, 
smiling  at  old  Cy's  intuitive  sympathy  with 
his  own  wishes  and  wondering  if  all  Green- 
vale  had  guessed  them  as  well.  He  little 
realized  how  most  of  them  already  considered 
Angie  and  himself  engaged,  and  only  waited 
notice  of  a  wedding-day. 

But  on  the  way  back  another  matter  was 
discussed  —  the  cause  of  David's  scare  and 
its  results. 

"  It's  a  wakin'  o'  his  sense  o'  guilt,"  old 
Cy  responded  to  Martin's  inquiry,  "  'n'  I 


A  TASTE  OF  WOOD   LIFE  223 

wouldn't  be  s'prised  if  they  found  him  danglin' 
in  the  mill  some  mornin'.  It's  fear  o'  Amzi 
comin'  back  that  ails  him,  V  I  know  it" 

"  But  what  scared  him  the  night  they 
found  him  raving  ?  "  queried  Martin.  "  Do  you 
imagine  Amzi  has  returned  and  is  in  hiding  ? " 

"No,    not    yet  —  not    yet,"     answered     old. 
Cy,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  "but  he'll  come 
some   day  sure's   the   sun   rises,    'n'    when   he 
does,  I'll  be  the  fust  to  know  it." 

"  But  what  scared  David,  do  you  think  ? " 

Old  Cy  looked  at  Martin  curiously.  "  Kin 
ye  keep  a  secret  ? "  he  said. 

"I  will  for  you,  old  friend,"  answered 
Martin,  earnestly. 

"Wai,  'twas  Nezer!" 

"Nezer?" 

"Yes,  'twas  him  ez  hooked  all  the  tools  'n' 
started  the  mill  goin'  'n'  finally  played  ghost 
that  night.  I've  known  it  all  long  'n'  'twas 
to  git  square  fer  jumpin'  into  a  barbed-wire 
trap  that  old  Dave  sot  fer  the  boys  in  the 
swimmin'  hole.  I  heerd  on  't  next  day,  'n' 
I've  bin  watchin'  Nezer  ever  since.  I  tell 
you  that  boy's  a  deal  like  a  hornet  'n'  a  bad 


224  THE   HERMIT 

un  to  play  tricks  on.  I've  never  let  on,  V 
I  don't  want  you  to.  Nezer  scared  the  wits 
out  o'  old  Dave  that  night,  depend  on't,  V  he 
ain't  done  yit.  It's  a  sort  o'  dispensation  o' 
Providence,  so  ter  speak,  'n'  I'm  willin'  he 
should  keep  at  it.  Old  Dave  robbed  me  o' 
.house  'n'  home  once,  'n'  now  he's  gittin'  his 
desarts."  And  old  Cy's  eyes  twinkled. 

Martin  looked  at  him  in  admiration. 

"And  you  have  kept  mum  for  a  month, 
while  the  entire  village  was  in  an  uproar," 
he  said,  "  and  even  led  the  searching  party !  " 

"  Sartin,  sartin,"  chuckled  the  old  man ; 
"I  warn't  goin'  to  spoil  Nezer's  game,  'n'  I'm 
only  waitin'  fer  him  to  skeer  old  Dave  agin. 
He'll  do  it  'fore  long,  depend  on  't.  He  ain't 
forgot  jumpin'  naked  into  a  barbed-wire  net 
yit,  'n'  won't  let  up  on  Dave  till  he's  druv 
him  loony." 

Then  Martin  laughed  heartily  as  old  Cy 
told  how  Nezer  met  his  mishap,  and  how  he 
had  watched  the  boy  lurking  around  the  mill 
one  night. 

"  I  seen  him  crawlin'  'long  like  a  cat  in 
the  shadder,"  he  said,  "'n'  down  under  the 


A  TASTE   OF   WOOD   LIFE  225 

mill,  'n'  perty  soon  I  heard  the  mill  start,  'n' 
the  next,  I  saw  Nezer  come  out  'n'  sneak  up 
the  hill  through  the  brush,  'n'  I  follered,  not 
wantin'  to  be  caught  thar  myself." 

For  a  little  time  Martin  remained  silent, 
revolving  a  more  important  matter. 

"  Cy,"  he  said,  at  last,  "how  would  you  like 
to  go  with  me  for  a  month's  trip  into  the 
wilderness,  where  I  took  the  doctor  last 
spring  ?  You  have  given  me  many  a  day's 
happiness  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  now  I'd  like  to 
return  it.  I'll  rig  you  up  with  suitable  togs,  and 
give  you  a  month's  experience  you  won't  forget. 
I  want  you  also  to  see  the  old  hermit  we  found." 

Old  Cy's  eyes  glistened. 

"  Ye  won't  be  'shamed  o'  me  goin'  'n'  comin', 
will  ye?  I'm  sorter  out  o'  place  'mong  folks, 
ye  know,  I  s'pose." 

"I  won't  worry  about  that,"  laughed  Mar- 
tin, "and  I  don't  know  a  human  being  I'd 
enjoy  camping  with  any  better  than  you.  The 
fall  season  for  shooting  begins  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  I'd  like  to  see  you  face  a  big  bull  moose, 
or  bring  down  a  deer  on  the  run.  There's  a 
few  other  wilderness  experiences  I'd  like  to 
Q 


226  THE  HERMIT 

see  you  enjoy,  and  then  we  may  discover 
another  wild  man.  The  doctor  and  I  found 
a  hid-away  log-cabin  we  didn't  get  very  close 
to,  and  who  occupied  it  has  been  a  mystery 
to  me  ever  since." 

All  the  rest  of  the  way  home  Martin  en- 
larged upon  the  fascinations  of  wilderness  life, 
and  so  elated  was  old  Cy  at  his  coming  treat 
that  he  scarcely  slept  that  night. 

The  picnic  next  day,  however,  was  such 
an  enjoyable  episode  that  it  needs  description. 

To  begin,  the  weather  was  perfect.  A  hazy 
Indian  summer  day,  when  the  woods  were 
so  silent  the  tinkle  of  falling  leaves  could 
be  heard,  and  the  blue  corn-crakes  flitting 
among  the  chestnut  trees,  the  squirrels  chat- 
tering, and  nut-gathering  the  only  sounds. 
When  the  little  party,  crowded  on  to  a  three- 
seated  buckboard,  reached  the  forest  nook,  a  sur- 
prise greeted  them  with  an  addition,  unknown 
even  to  Martin,  for  some  kindly  hand  had  been 
at  work,  and  the  wigwam  was  a  blaze  of  yellow, 
being  completely  coated  with  sprays  of  golden- 
rod,  while  a  row  of  ox-eye  daisies  outlined 
the  triangular  door. 


A   TASTE  OF  WOOD   LIFE 

"  It's  old  Cy's  work,"  asserted  Martin,  while 
the  rest  were  exclaiming  in  astonishment  at 
the  pretty  picture.  "  We  came  here  yesterday 
to  get  the  spot  ready,  and  he  must  have  got 
up  early  to  add  the  decoration." 

It  was  quite  in  order  that  Angie  should  at 
least  give  Martin  a  special  glance  of  gratified 
approval,  but  although  he  watched  her  cov- 
ertly, while  the  rest  were  praising  his  efforts, 
none  rewarded  him.  She  joined,  of  course, 
with  them  in  approving  comment  on  the  table, 
the  fireplace,  the  spot  selected,  and  especially 
the  wigwam ;  led  off  in  opening  baskets  and 
bundles  and  setting  the  table;  watched  with 
keen  interest  the  methods  of  outdoor  cook- 
ing, and  when  Martin  had  spread  the  chicken 
he  had  brought  on  the  wire  broilers,  and  set 
them  in  place  before  the  fire,  humorously  in- 
quired if  salt  was  always  omitted  by  back- 
wood  cooks.  She  was  like  a  child,  also,  in 
her  enjoyment  of  the  wigwam,  and  the  pic- 
ture of  herself  seated  inside,  while  the  men 
attended  their  culinary  work  just  in  front,  was 
one  that  drew  Martin's  glances. 

A  picnic  has  been  defined  as  a  few  people 


228  THE   HERMIT 

finding  an  uncomfortable  spot  where  they  may 
eat,  getting  ready  to  eat,  eating,  and  then 
returning  to  more  convenient  quarters,  declar- 
ing that  they  have  had  a  good  time,  and 
perhaps  this  one  was  much  the  same.  There 
is  some  satisfaction,  however,  to  an  anxious 
lover  in  being  "cook  and  captain  bold"  on 
such  an  outing  as  Martin  had  planned,  and 
he  made  the  most  of  his  chance.  He  cooked 
the  corn  and  potatoes  just  right,  browned  the 
chicken  to  a  turn,  and  didn't  spill  the  coffee. 
He  was  everywhere,  and  doing  everything  all 
at  once,  and  when  the  rustic  meal  was  served, 
received  a  loud  succession  of  compliments  from 
all  the  women  except  Angie,  and  one  or  two 
mild  ones  from  her.  If  she  was  somewhat 
unresponsive,  Aunt  Comfort  made  up  for  it, 
and  to  an  uninformed  observer  it  seemed 
as  if  she  felt  herself  the  one  in  whose  honor 
the  picnic  was  planned.  There  wasn't  an 
item  in  the  simple  bill  of  fare  that  she  didn't 
praise,  and  Martin's  skill  in  cooking  received 
no  end  of  it. 

"  I'd  no  idee  a  man  ud  ever  know  when  br'iled 
chicken  was  done  through,"  she  observed  when 


A  TASTE  OF  WOOD   LIFE 

all  were  seated  at  the  table  and  the  feast  be- 
gan. "  I  never  saw  one  afore  who  did.  But 
this  beats  any  I  ever  tasted,  V  how  ye  managed 
'thout  gittin'  it  smoked  is  the  puzzlin'  part." 

"  He  has  learned  it  from  his  guide  in  the 
woods,"  put  in  the  doctor,  pausing  to  butter  a 
steaming  ear  of  green  corn ;  "  that  is  part  of 
their  trade,  and  Martin  catches  on  quick." 

"  You  might  open  a  cooking  school  in  Green- 
vale  and  have  plently  of  pupils,"  added  the 
doctor's  wife,  who  also  loved  good  things  to 
eat ;  "  I  will  attend." 

"  I  am  surprised  you  don't  blush  at  so  much 
praise,  Mr.  Frisbie,"  interjected  Angie,  with  a 
laugh,  "  I  should,  I  am  sure." 

But  no  reply  came  from  Martin  until  the 
chorus  ceased.  "  I  am  reminded  of  the  advice 
a  wise  man  gave  me  once,"  he  responded  then, 
"  and  that  was,  never  blow  your  own  horn,  but 
if  some  one  else  is  doing  it,  don't  stop  him." 

It  would  have  been  quite  in  order  at  this 
picnic,  when  its  feasting  had  ended,  and  the 
repacking  attended  to,  had  Angie,  as  guest  of 
honor,  devoted  herself  for  a  time  to  the  host, 
but  that  seemed  no  part  of  this  girl's  desire. 


230  THE   HERMIT 

Instead,  the  doctor  was  the  target  for  her 
sallies,  and  the  object  of  her  attention,  and  had 
been  from  the  outset.  And  when  the  time  had 
arrived,  when  picnickers  don't  know  what  to  do 
next,  Angie  insisted  that  the  doctor  escort  her 
up  the  Mizzy,  and  show  her  the  mysteries  of 
trout  catching. 

It  was  almost  ludicrous,  for  Martin  had 
brought  his  rods  along  for  this  very  purpose, 
and  a  plausible  excuse  for  an  hour's  privacy 
with  Angie,  only  to  see  her  deftly  escape  him, 
and  wander  off  with  Dr.  Sol. 

"  Hang  on  to  him,  Angie,  if  you  meet  a  wild 
man,"  laughed  Martin,  as  the  two  disappeared 
up  the  stream,  "or  you  will  have  to  come  back 
alone,"  and  with  this  Parthian  shot  at  the 
doctor,  Martin  accepted  his  discomfiture  with- 
out a  frown.  Better  than  all  that,  too,  he  now 
devoted  himself  to  the  elder  ladies,  as  if  their 
enjoyment  of  the  day  was  his  chief  concern. 
He  told  them  stories  of  wood  life  and  the 
meeting  with  bears  and  wildcats,  how  camps 
were  made,  meals  cooked,  fish  and  game 
secured,  carries  crossed,  rapids  shot,  and  all  the 
hundred  and  one  experiences  of  life  in  the 


A  TASTE  OF   WOOD   LIFE  231 

wilderness  familiar  to  all  sportsmen.  Then  he 
again  recounted  all  the  features  of  his  trip  with 
Dr.  Sol,  the  night  call  of  the  ogre-faced 
wild  man,  his  hideous  half-human,  half-brute 
tracks,  the  finding  of  the  queerly  carved  paddle 
knob,  the  lonely  cabin  with  its  ominous  signal 
wire,  and  later  the  weird  night  visitor  to  the 
moonlit  lake,  when  they  were  camped,  and  his 
supposed  explanation  in  the  finding  of  the 
strange  hermit. 

All  this  had  been  told  before,  but  retold  now 
in  this  romantic  forest  nook,  with  the  stream 
chattering  on  one  side,  and  the  wigwam  close 
by,  it  made  a  chapter  of  experience  that  held 
the  three  ladies  spellbound. 

Martin  also  had  excellent  descriptive  powers, 
and  the  rare  ability  of  making  his  hearers  see 
and  feel  what  he  had  seen  and  felt,  and  so  en- 
tranced were  they  that  the  doctor  and  Angle's 
hour's  absence  seemed  no  time  at  all. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  men  go  daft  on  wood 
life,"  asserted  the  doctor's  wife,  when  Martin's 
recital  ended  and  the  two  absentees  joined  them. 
"  If  it's  all  so  full  of  mystery  and  romance,  as 
you  describe,  it  must  be  fascinating." 


232  THE   HERMIT 

But  the  lowering  sun  said  pack  up  and  go 
home,  although  the  little  party  felt  loath  to  do 
so.  The  picnic  had  been  a  success,  however, 
and  Martin  had  been  its  hero  to  them  at  least, 
which  is  above  the  average.  He  was  not 
crowned  with  laurel,  though  plenty  grew  about 
the  pretty  nook,  but  he  received  ample  praise 
and  a  final  word  from  Angie,  which  was  some 
reward  for  his  patient  effort. 

"  I  hate  to  leave  this  spot,  and  especially  that 
wigwam,"  she  said  to  him  when  the  rest  and 
their  belongings  were  loaded  and  ready  to  start. 
Then  this  teasing  and  perhaps  now  contrite 
girl  added,  "  May  I  rob  it  of  the  daisies  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  he  responded,  leading  the 
way  back  to  it;  "we  built  it  to  please  you." 

Angie  made  no  response,  but  when  she  had 
taken  all  the  flowers  she  could  grasp  in  one 
hand,  she  laid  the  bouquet  on  the  table,  and 
selecting  a  tiny  sprig  of  golden-rod,  drew  it 
into  the  top  button-hole  of  his  coat  without 
comment. 

And  so  ended  the  picnic. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

JUST   A    FORMAL  GOOD-BY 

FOR  a  week  now  Angle  had  been  school- 
teacher again,  and  twice  a  day  she  walked  the 
distance  of  almost  two  miles  to  and  from 
school.  The  leaves  were  turning,  the  maples 
in  front  of  her  home  already  a  glow  of  yellow, 
and  the  advent  of  autumn  only  accented  the 
memories  clustering  around  the  old  red  bridge 
she  crossed  morning  and  night.  Occasionally 
she  paused  there  on  her  way  home,  looking 
into  the  slow-flowing  stream  and  thinking  of 
this  sturdy  young  man  with  kindly  brown 
eyes  and  earnest  ways.  In  his  presence  she 
felt  herself  somewhat  of  a  child,  and  yet  one 
who  could  hold  him  in  restraint  with  a  glance. 
And  he  had  changed  so  from  the  old  days ! 
Then  a  big,  happy,  quite  harmless  boy,  now 
an  almost  stern  man,  and  more  like  a  lion 
liable  to  roar  at  any  moment,  and  who  must 
233 


234  THE   HERMIT 

be  treated  with  due  consideration.  The  old 
resentment  at  his  silent  desertion  was  also 
vanishing,  and  as  she  glanced  at  the  pile  of 
bleaching  planks  under  the  willow  each  day, 
and  realized  how  only  her  cool  reserve  had 
kept  him  at  a  distance,  so  far  her  face  grew 
rosy.  And  what  was  to  be  the  outcome  ? 
Some  day  this  forceful  man  would  scorn  her 
puny  barrier,  and  what  then?  She  could  not 
always  keep  him  at  a  distance ;  and  did  she 
want  to  ?  And  could  she  say  "  yes "  to  a 
question  she  knew  would  sooner  or  later  be 
asked  ?  There  would  be  no  opposition  if  she 
did.  Aunt  Comfort  would  sew  until  blind  to 
help  get  her  ready  for  the  all-important  step, 
and  then,  left  alone,  would  cry  her  old  heart 
out  in  solitude. 

But  could  she  trust  her  very  life,  and  all 
chance  for  happiness,  in  his  hands,  and  desert 
the  good  old  soul  who  had  been  mother  so 
many  years  ?  It  must  come  to  that,  she  felt, 
for  his  adopting  Greenvale  as  a  permanent 
residence  was  unlikely.  She  was  sure  his 
trout-raising  hobby  was  but  a  short-lived  fad, 
and  to  content  himself  in  slow-going  Green- 


JUST  A   FORMAL  GOOD-BY  235 

vale  for  long  was  not  to  be  expected.  He 
had  grown  used  to  the  busy  world  of  a  great 
city  and  back  to  it  he  must  go  or  be  miser- 
able. She  even  doubted  if  he  would  remain 
there  after  snow  came  and  the  dreary  monot- 
ony of  winter  began.  And  as  she  looked 
down  into  the  dark,  slow-eddying  current,  and 
thought  of  the  white  pall  that  would  then 
hide  it,  and  how  even  the  sight  of  a  snow- 
bird was  a  relief,  then  the  sorrow,  that  all 
through  life  keeps  pace  with  joy,  touched  her 
heart  —  and  not  so  much  her  own  as  that  of 
another,  who  had  even  less  to  anticipate ! 

She  had  little  to  look  forward  to.  It  was 
all  alike  —  the  same  unvarying  round  of  home 
life,  night  and  morning ;  the  long  walk  to 
school  in  heat,  rain,  or  snow;  the  monotony 
of  lessons  so  simple  to  her,  so  hard  for  the 
pupils;  the  goings  to  church  to  see  the  same 
faces  each  Sunday,  and  hear  the  same  ser- 
monizing there,  to  repeat  it  all  the  next  week. 
It  was  a  treadmill  existence,  without  color  or 
excitement,  and  yet  even  more  so  was  that 
of  Aunt  Comfort,  whose  smile  and  word  of 
greeting  on  her  return  each  night  marked  it 


236  THE   HERMIT 

as  the  only  event  of  importance  that  day. 
Then  all  the  years  since  that  fatal  morning 
when  she,  a  scared  child,  had  flown  to  Aunt 
Comfort;  all  the  loving  care,  the  self-denials, 
the  makeshift  to  get  along,  the  kindly  words, 
the  motherly  thought  for  all  her  needs  now  re- 
turned, like  so  many  hands  extended  in  sup- 
plication, and  seemed  to  impose  a  sacred 
obligation. 

She  knew  what  Aunt  Comfort  would  say  if 
asked.  She  knew  what  that  good  soul's  wait- 
ing up  for  her  and  the  kiss  that  was  a  bene- 
diction meant!  But  no,  it  should  not  be,  and, 
as  she  turned  away  from  the  dark  current,  it 
was  with  a  resolve  to  say  "no"  when  the  time 
came,  and  come  what  may,  abide  with  and 
care  for  Aunt  Comfort  so  long  as  she  lived. 

And  that  evening  Martin  called. 

"  I  leave  for  the  wilderness  to-morrow,"  he 
said,  when  greetings  had  been  exchanged, 
"and  am  taking  old  Cy  with  me."  And 
then  ensued  a  somewhat  humorous  account 
of  how  that  unique  old  man  felt  about  the 
trip  and  what  he  was  likely  to  meet.  It  was 
rather  forced,  for  Martin  felt  himself  starting 


JUST  A  FORMAL  GOOD-BY  237 

upon  a  momentous  expedition,  and  leaving 
Angie  just  now  was  also  unpleasant.  Then 
again,  he  sorely  wanted  to  confide  in  some 
one,  and  yet  dared  not. 

A  secret  is  a  burden,  be  it  good  or  evil, 
and  all  the  possibilities  of  joy  and  sorrow 
contained  in  the  one  Martin  carried  made  it 
a  double  burden.  In  due  time,  and  as  usual, 
Aunt  Comfort  withdrew,  and  he  was  alone 
with  Angie. 

And  now  she  too  seemed  out  of   sorts. 

"  My  school  has  been  troublesome  to-day," 
she  said,  in  response  to  his  inquiry,  "and  the 
turning  leaves  always  affect  me  in  a  peculiar 
way.  I  am  positively  unbearable  all  through 
the  melancholy  days,"  she  added,  affecting  a 
laugh,  "and  I  think  my  school  noticed  it." 

Martin  did,  at  least,  and  quick  of  intuition 
realized  that  even  a  hint  of  love-making  now 
would  be  out  of  place.  Then  while  Angie 
spoke  of  her  school,  and  all  its  vexations, 
recalled  the  picnic  and  its  enjoyment,  he 
joined  in  occasionally  in  a  half-hearted  way, 
fully  conscious  she  was  only  trying  to  enter- 
tain him,  and  be  polite. 


238  THE   HERMIT 

"You  are  not  quite  your  usual  self,"  he 
said  at  last,  almost  desperately,  "  and  I  am 
way  down  hill  in  my  mood." 

"You  ought  not  to  be,"  she  returned,  smil- 
ing at  him,  "  you  have  a  few  weeks  of  camp- 
fires,  bough  beds,  and  wilderness  life  ahead, 
and  I  almost  envy  you.  I'd  like  to  look  into 
your  camp  some  evening  and  see  you  cooking 
again.  Shall  you  visit  that  old  hermit  on  your 
trip  ? " 

"  I  expect  to,"  answered  Martin,  feeling  him- 
self grow  hot  and  cold,  "  but  I  wish  the  doctor 
were  going  also." 

And  now  a  strange  fatality  led  Angie  to 
ask  all  about  this  hermit  —  how  he  looked, 
lived,  and  acted,  who  he  might  be,  and  where 
he  came  from. 

"  I've  thought  of  him  so  many  times  since 
the  doctor  told  me,"  she  added,  after  Martin 
had  answered  her  questions  as  vaguely  as 
possible,  "and  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the 
more  pitiful  his  life  seems.  I  wish  I  could 
send  him  something." 

Then  a  new  thought  came  to  Martin.  He 
had  an  old  and  faded  picture  of  Angie,  taken 


JUST  A  FORMAL  GOOD-BY  239 

at  sixteen,  with  hair  in  curls ;  but  now  he 
must  have  a  later  one  for  a  purpose  he  dared 
not  even  hint,  and  how  to  get  it  without  ex- 
citing her  curiosity  was  a  question. 

"Angie,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "please 
come  into  the  parlor  and  sing  some  of  the 
old  songs  for  me." 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  responded,  rising ;  "  do 
you  feel  churchy  again  ?  "  Then  she  led  the 
way  to  the  parlor,  where  an  album  lay  on  the 
centre-table. 

And  now  a  spirit  of  mischief  all  at  once 
seemed  to  animate  this  clouds-and-sunshine 
girl,  and  the  very  song  he  had  listened  to 
outside  the  evening  of  his  arrival  —  the  plaint 
of  "Sweet  Camelia  May's  "  love-sick  adorer  — 
was  her  first  selection.  Then  came  "The 
Quilting  Party,"  and  a  half  dozen  other  old- 
time  love-songs,  and  Martin,  just  a  wee  bit 
love-sick,  and  conscious  that  he  had  best  keep 
it  to  himself,  sat  and  listened. 

When  she  ceased,  he  rose  to  go.  "  Good-by, 
Angie,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand  at  the 
door,  and  as  she  took  it  their  eyes  met — his 
full  of  trouble  and  despondency,  hers  a  trifle 


240  THE   HERMIT 

wistful.  "  I  shall  carry  the  memory  of  your 
face  into  the  wilderness  with  me,"  he  added, 
glancing  at  the  hand  he  still  held,  "  and  —  and 
don't  forget  me." 

When  the  sound  of  his  steps  had  vanished 
in  the  still  night,  she  returned  to  the  parlor 
and  sat  down.  Through  an  open  window 
came  the  faint  tinkle  of  leaves  falling  from 
the  maples,  down  the  valley  the  low  murmur 
of  the  Mizzy  falls,  and  from  the  sitting  room, 
the  slow,  measured  tick  of  the  clock.  She 
was  accustomed  to  hours  of  solitude,  her  life 
was  one  of  dull,  flat  monotony  to  which  she  was 
hardened.  But  somehow  just  now  the  parlor 
seemed  like  a  tomb.  Full  well  she  knew  that 
Martin  had  come  to  say  more  than  a  formal 
good-by.  By  sheer  force  of  will-power  she 
had  checked  it,  as  she  meant  to  in  the  future. 
It  was  against  her  own  heart-yearnings  now, 
but  it  was  her  duty;  and  as  she  thought  of 
the  wrinkled  face  upstairs  and  the  faded  blouse 
and  sword,  and  realized  how  her  own  young 
life  and  love  were  all  Aunt  Comfort  had  left, 
her  resolution  and  sense  of  obligation  grew 
stronger. 


JUST  A  FORMAL  GOOD-BY  241 

Once  a  less  thoughtful  girl,  she  might  and 
no  doubt  would  have  brushed  all  duty  aside 
in  response  to  a  lover's  claim ;  now  more 
mature  duty  came  first. 

For  a  little  time  she  sat  there  listening  to 
the  slow  —  never,  never,  never  —  beats  of  the 
clock,  and  living  over  old-time  memories. 
One  by  one  they  came  back,  and  like  van- 
ished blessings,  seeming  the  sweeter,  and  now 
this  new  insidious  impulse  that  must  be  stifled. 
And  as  the  little  heartache  grew  apace,  her 
eyes  filled. 

"  Pshaw,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  rising  and 
brushing  the  tears  away,  "  how  silly.  I  am  a 
woman  now,  and  women  are  born  to  suffer  in 
silence." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN   THE   WILDERNESS    ONCE    MORE 

NEVER  before,  during  old  Cy's  unfortunate 
and  hand-to-mouth  existence,  had  so  much 
delightful  expectation  entered  as  the  morning 
he  left  Greenvale  as  Martin's  companion,  at- 
tired in  new  brown  corduroy.  The  best  of 
any  pleasure  is  its  anticipation,  and  the  old 
man,  now  barbered  into  more  human  sem- 
blance, looked  twenty  years  younger.  Then 
the  busy  world  they  soon  entered,  the  rushing 
trains,  the  crowded  cities,  the  hurrying  people, 
the  hasty  meals,  the  night  on  a  train,  were  one 
and  all  so  great  a  change  from  his  simple  life 
in  Greenvale,  that  he  almost  lost  his  senses. 
His  sleeping-car  experience,  and  his  first  one, 
was  almost  ludicrous  in  its  effect  upon  him. 

"  It  sorter  seemed  just  like  bein'  in  a  coffin 

'n'     clankin'     right     along     toward     kingdom 

come,"  he   said   next   morning  in    response  to 

Martin's   inquiries    as    to    how  he    slept,   "  'n' 

242 


IN  THE   WILDERNESS   ONCE   MORE          243 

every  time  the  train  rocked,  I  thought  I'd  got 
than" 

But  when  the  border  of  the  wilderness  was 
reached,  old  Cy  felt  more  at  home,  for  forest 
lakes  and  streams  had  been  his  lifelong  com- 
panions. He  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
extensive  purchases  Martin  made  at  the  little 
village  store,  and  especially  at  a  complete  suit 
of  men's  clothing  with  double  sets  of  flannel 
underwear,  but  asked  no  questions.  Neither 
did  he  have  any  idea  of  the  real  and  ultimate 
object  of  the  trip,  and  was  not  told  until  our 
old  friends  Levi  and  Jean  had  pushed  the 
well-loaded  canoes  twenty  miles  up  a  broad 
stream,  and  the  first  camp  was  made.  All 
that  day  old  Cy  had  been  like  a  boy  in  his 
enjoyment  of  this  new  wonder  world  of  dark 
bordering  forest  disturbed  only  by  the  rippling 
stream,  the  cry  of  an  eagle  sailing  over  a 
mountain  top,  or  the  clatter  of  a  flock  of  ducks 
rising  out  of  a  lagoon ;  and  then,  when  the 
tent  was  pitched,  supper  eaten,  and  Martin 
was  reclining  upon  his  blanket  and  slowly  puff- 
ing his  pipe,  he  told  the  story  of  the  hermit, 
and  who  he  was  suspected  to  be. 


244  THE  HERMIT 

"The  doctor  and  I  had  a  trip  full  of  unu- 
sual and  mysterious  experiences  last  spring," 
he  said,  "and  it's  only  a  surmise  on  my  part, 
even  now,  who  the  hermit  was.  First  we 
were  visited  by  the  wild  man  about  whom  I 
told  you,  then  we  came  upon  a  secluded  log 
cabin  that  might  have  been  his  lair  and  might 
not.  A  week  later  we  discovered  a  human 
prowler  at  night,  equally  mysterious,  and  finally 
this  hermit — a  morose,  harmless,  old  man,  who 
had  made  friends  of  the  squirrels  and  evi- 
dently was  averse  to  our  company.  I  have  a 
suspicion  he  is  the  long-vanished  Amzi,  and 
if  so,  you  are  the  only  one  who  can  tell,  and 
also  the  only  one  whom  he  would  be  likely 
to  remember.  If  it  is  Amzi,  he  is,  without 
doubt,  partially  demented.  But  whether  or  no, 
if  he  recognizes  you,  his  old-time  companion, 
we  have  established  a  fact  which  I  can  use  to 
bring  David  to  terms.  If  it  is  not  Amzi,  no 
harm  is  done." 

"An'  'twas  fer  him  ye  bought  th'  extra 
clothes  ? "  queried  old  Cy,  with  keen  interest ; 
then  adding,  after  a  pause,  with  visible  emo- 
tion, "  Mr.  Frisbie,  how  fer  is  it  to  whar  he 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  ONCE   MORE         245 

was  livin',  'n'  kin  we  fetch  it  in  another  day  ? 
If  it  turns  out  to  be  Amzi,  I'll  jist  squat 
down  an'  blubber  like  a  baby.  I'm  sure 
on  V 

Martin  smiled. 

"I'm  glad  I  brought  you,  old  friend,"  he 
answered,  watching  his  face  and  eyes  that 
glistened  in  the  firelight.  "If  it  proves  to  be 
Amzi,  you  alone  can  reach  his  memory  and 
maybe  induce  him  to  return  to  Greenvale." 
Then,  as  the  astonishing  effect  such  a  return 
would  have  on  that  village  flashed  into  his 
mind,  he  added,  "I'd  give  a  cool  thousand 
for  the  chance  to  walk  up  to  old  Dave  and 
say,  'Here's  your  brother  Amzi;  I  found  him 
in  the  wilderness.' ' 

" '  Twould  gin  him  a  worse  scare  than 
Nezer  did,  'n'  I'd  be  willing  to  lay  down  'n' 
die  jist  te  see  Angie  git  her  rights.  She's 
been  robbed  long  enough." 

"  She  will  before  I'm  done  with  the  mat- 
ter," responded  Martin,  in  his  earnest  way, 
"and  it's  for  that  purpose  we  are  here  to- 
night. But  I  must  ask  you  to  keep  this  to 
yourself  when  we  return,"  he  added  after  a 


246  THE   HERMIT 

pause.  "To  no  one  in  Greenvale,  not  even 
Dr.  Sol,  have  I  even  hinted  what  I've  told 
you  to-night." 

"Ye  kin  trust  me.  I'd  sorter  'spected  all 
along  how  ye'd  felt  toward  Angie,  'n'  if  ever 
thar  was  a  girl  worthy  o'  a  good  man,  it's 
her." 

A  shade  crossed  Martin's  face,  for  Angle's 
cool  parting  was  with  him  still. 

"  How  many  days'll  it  take  us  to  git  thar," 
continued  old  Cy ;  "  will  it  take  long  ?  " 

"  About  ten  days,"  answered  Martin,  after  a 
pause;  "it's  a  hundred  miles,  with  some  hard 
carries."  Then  he  filled  and  lit  his  pipe  anew, 
pushed  the  embers  together,  and  watched  the  fire 
in  silence,  his  thoughts  back  to  Greenvale  and 
Angie.  It  had  been  but  little  over  three  months 
now  since  he  had  camped  in  this  same  wilder- 
ness and  on  this  same  stream  with  Dr.  Sol, 
and  in  that  time  what  a  change  in  his  own  feel- 
ings had  come  about.  Then  the  soft  voices  of 
the  woods,  the  laughter  of  running  water,  the 
whisper  of  winds  in  the  fir  tops,  the  song  of 
birds  had  all  sounded  sweet  to  him.  Then  he 
was  like  the  woodpecker  :  — 


IN  THE   WILDERNESS   ONCE   MORE          247 

"  Who  lived  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree, 
Didn't  care  for  nobody 
And  nobody  cared  for  he." 

True  he  had  a  blissful  memory  of  old-time 
boyish  love,  also  sweet  and  perfect,  that  could 
be  recalled  at  will  and  lose  none  of  its 
charm,  but  it  was  only  a  memory  and  held  no 
heartache,  no  longing,  no  consuming  desire  to 
have  and  to  hold  its  object  for  all  time. 

Then  came  the  temptation  to  return  to  that 
remote  village  of  his  youth  and  renew  the  old 
fond  dream  if  possible. 

And  what  was  the  result  ? 

He  had  returned  to  find  Greenvale's  scattered 
houses  seemingly  dwarfed  in  size,  the  streams 
he  once  fished  merely  rills,  his  early  sweetheart, 
once  so  tender  and  confiding,  grown  to  young 
womanhood,  who  looked  at  him  with  critical 
eyes,  and  beyond  all  these  disappointments  and 
changes,  and  more  painful  than  all  —  himself 
forgotten. 

And  what  had  he  accomplished  in  the  three 
short  months  that  seemed  as  many  years  ? 

He  had  spent  a  few  hundred  dollars  on  his 
trout-preserve  hobby,  renewed  a  few  old  ac- 


248  THE  HERMIT 

quaintanceships,  passed  a  dozen  or  more  even- 
ings with  Angie,  each  increasing  the  sum  total 
of  his  unrest,  discovered  how  mean  and  miserly 
a  human  being  could  be  and  live  and  —  that 
was  about  all. 

His  wooing  of  Angie  had  made  no  apparent 
progress ;  the  fact  that  he  had  outgrown  Green- 
vale's  social  and  religious  scope  was  painfully 
apparent,  and  all  that  he  had  won  of  value  to 
himself,  was  the  faint  hope  of  a  chance  to  right 
a  great  wrong  by  restoring  his  boyhood's  sweet- 
heart to  her  natural  rights.  When  that  was 
accomplished,  he  felt  for  a  moment  that  the 
wisest  and  best  move  on  his  own  part  would  be 
to  return  to  the  whirl  of  city  life,  and,  in  the 
grind  of  money  making,  forget  Angie  and 
Greenvale. 

But  resolutions  are  easier  to  make  than  to 
carry  out,  and  when  the  fire  had  burned  low 
and  Martin  had  led  the  way  into  the  tent  and 
wrapped  himself  in  his  blanket  beside  old  Cy, 
Angie's  glorious  eyes  and  all  the  temptation  of 
her  face,  form,  voice,  and  the  sweet  memory  of 
old  times  followed  him.  Put  her  out  of  his 
thoughts  he  could  not,  any  more  than  he  could 


IN  THE   WILDERNESS   ONCE   MORE          249 

close  his  ears  to  the  murmur  of  the  flowing 
stream  close  by.  With  eyes  closed  he  saw  her 
tripping  to  and  from  church  or  across  fields, 
with  sun  hat  hanging  low,  felt  the  light  clasp  of 
her  hand  on  his  arm  as  he  had  that  night  walk- 
ing home  from  the  old  red  bridge,  heard  her 
voice  rising  in  the  sweet  melody  of  "  Give,  said 
the  Little  Stream,"  and  after  a  long  hour  of  these 
tantalizing  memories,  when  he  finally  passed  into 
slumber,  a  winsome  face  kept  him  company. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

UNEXPECTED  TROUBLE 

BUT  of  that  journey  into  the  wilderness  little 
need  be  said.  It  was  like  all  such  —  a  roman- 
tic, though  at  times  somewhat  tedious,  following 
of  streams,  crossing  lakes  and  carries,  and  camp- 
ing when  night  overtook  them.  On  the  second 
day  out  old  Cy  obtained  his  first  sight  and  shot 
at  a  deer,  and,  as  might  be  expected,  no  harm 
befell  the  deer. 

"  I  sartinly  aimed  fair  enough,"  he  asserted 
in  response  to  Martin's  laugh,  "  but  the  gun 
might  'a'  wobbled  a  leetle.  It's  bigger  game 
'n  I'm  used  to." 

He  made  amends  later,  for  along  toward 
night  and  just  as  they  rounded  a  bend  in  the 
stream,  there  on  the  bank,  with  antlers  held 
high,  stood  a  noble  buck  looking  directly  at 
them.  With  a  quick  backward  stroke  Jean 
halted  the  canoe,  Cy  raised  his  rifle,  fired,  and 
250 


UNEXPECTED  TROUBLE  2$  I 

the  deer  leaped  straight  upward  and  vanished 
in  the  undergrowth. 

"  Never  touched  him !  "  exclaimed  Martin. 
But  with  a  "  Not  so,  he  one  dead  deer,"  from 
the  more  experienced  Jean,  he  urged  his  canoe 
forward,  and,  sure  enough,  there  on  the  bank 
a  trail  of  blood  led  them  a  hundred  rods  into 
the  forest  and  to  the  prize  awaiting  them. 

"  No  deer  jump  that  way  'cept  he  ver'  bad 
hit,"  asserted  Jean,  in  triumph,  and  as  for  old 
Cy,  it  was  the  proudest  moment  of  his  life. 

The  next  day  they  came  upon  a  jolly  party 
of  four  fellow-sportsmen,  housed  in  a  deserted 
lumber  camp  on  the  shore  of  a  small  lake, 
and  halted  for  the  usual  exchange  of  compli- 
ments,' and  finally  they  made  camp  and  re- 
mained near  them  that  night.  They  were  a 
typical  party,  jolly  and  full  of  fun,  and  ad- 
dressed each  other  by  most  unique  nicknames. 
The  leader,  a  stout,  florid,  genial  man  was 
called  Lobster  Face,  the  next,  a  thin  fellow, 
was  Herring  Bone,  a  short  dapper  little  fellow 
responded  to  Brownie,  and  the  dude  of  the 
party  answered  to  Dead  Easy. 

But    Martin   was   too    anxious   to    solve    the 


252  THE   HERMIT 

mystery  that  led  him  into  the  woods,  to  tarry 
long  with  this  pleasant  party,  and  early  the 
next  morning  pushed  on.  It  was  four  days 
after  when  they  saw  another  human  being,  and 
one  day's  journey  to  the  lake  where  he  and 
Dr.  Sol  had  found  the  hermit,  when,  just 
as  Levi  and  Jean  had  pitched  the  tent  and 
started  a  fire,  two  men  paddled  up  in  a  canoe 
and  landed  close  by. 

Both  were  dressed  as  ordinary  sportsmen, 
yet  neither  could  be  classed  as  a  guide. 

"We  were  about  to  make  camp  above 
here,"  explained  the  older,  a  man  with  short- 
cropped  gray  beard  and  keen  eyes,  "and,  see- 
ing your  fire,  we  came  down  for  company's 
sake.  Hope  we  don't  intrude."  • 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Martin,  pleasantly, 
and  according  to  the  code  of  all  sportsmen, 
"  my  old  friend  and  I  also  like  company,  and 
you  are  welcome  to  camp  with  us."  Then, 
still  following  the  code,  he  drew  a  flask  out 
from  the  stores  and  passed  it  to  them. 

After  this  peace-offering  they  withdrew  a 
few  rods  and  began  clearing  a  camp  site. 
Later,  when  Martin  and  old  Cy  had  disposed 


UNEXPECTED  TROUBLE  253 

of  the  broiled  venison,  coffee,  and  boiled  pota- 
toes Levi  had  provided,  and  lit  their  pipes, 
the  newcomers  joined  them.  And  now  ensued 
a  polite  word  duel  between  Martin  and  the 
elder  stranger,  with  each  trying  to  obtain 
information  without  giving  it.  It  was  fruit- 
less, as  might  be  expected,  for  Martin  was 
suspicious  that  these  men  were  not  the  sports- 
men they  claimed  to  be ;  hence  he  gave  no 
information  and  they  were  as  reticent. 

It  is  a  curious  and  yet  well-known  fact  that 
two  men  meeting  thus,  will,  in  a  short  space, 
form  a  usually  correct  opinion  of  each  other's 
character  and  present  plans  and  intentions. 
One  may  strive  to  evade,  to  assert  what  is 
false,  and  as  the  saying  is,  "pull  wool  over 
the  other's  eyes,"  yet  it  is  usually  futile.  In 
this  case  Martin  soon  felt  satisfied  beyond 
doubt  that  these  men  were  not  here  for  sport, 
but  on  some  secret  mission  they  meant  to 
conceal.  They  spoke  of  the  abundance  of 
game  and  where  they  .  had  seen  it,  of  the 
weather,  lumbering  interests,  parties  they  had 
met,  and  kindred  subjects,  all  the  time  striv- 
ing to  induce  Martin  to  do  more  talking.  At 


254  THE   HERMIT 

last  he  decided  to  try  an  experiment  on  those 
who  he  felt  wished  to  learn  his  mission. 

"  I  presume,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  that 
you've  been  up  the  Moosehorn  ? " 

The  speaker  of  the  two  admitted  he  had. 

"Well,"  continued  Martin,  in  a  confidential 
manner,  "  I  was  up  that  way  last  spring  with 
a  friend  of  mine  who  had  never  been  in  the 
woods,  and  one  night  we  received  a  visit  from 
a  most  hideous  wild  man.  My  friend  saw  him 
first  and  nearly  died  of  fright,  and  later  on  I 
saw  him  glaring  at  us  from  behind  a  bush.  If 
you  go  that  way  again,  you  may  meet  him. 

"The  next  day,"  continued  Martin,  smiling 
at  their  sudden  interest,  "we  hunted  for  this 
fellow's  tracks,  and  found  he  was  endowed 
with  the  claws  of  a  panther. 

It  was  true,  and  yet  in  an  instant  Martin 
saw  he  wasn't  believed. 

"Did  you  notice  horns  on  him  also  the 
evening  before  ? "  came  the  query,  in  response 
to  this  astonishing  statement. 

"  No,"  answered  Martin,  laughing,  "  nor 
tail  either ;  but  what  I  tell  you  is  true,  though 
I  see  you  don't  believe  it." 


UNEXPECTED   TROUBLE  255 

For  answer  the  two  men  looked  first  at  one 
another,  then  at  Levi  and  Jean  reclining  close 
by,  and,  rising,  the  speaker  said  to  Martin, 
"  Come  over  to  our  tent,  won't  you  ?  I've  some- 
thing choice  there  I  want  you  to  sample." 

"  It  was  only  an  excuse  to  obtain  privacy, 
and  evident  enough  to  Martin,  but  he  little 
realized  the  shock  that  was  coming. 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  said  the  speaker  of  the 
two  men  in  a  low  voice,  when  the  three  had 
entered  his  tent,  addressing  Martin,  "that  you 
and  your  friend  are  gentlemen  who  are  here 
on  sportsmen's  mission  and  for  sport.  We 
are  on  another  and  far  different  errand,  but 
it  won't  do  for  your  guides  to  know  it  for 
sufficient  reasons.  I  see  you  mistrust  us,  and 
that  is  why  I  asked  you  in  here."  He  paused, 
looked  at  his  companion  who  nodded,  and  then 
continued,  "I  did  hope  to  obtain  some  infor- 
mation from  you,  but  see  it  is  impossible  until 
I  make  myself  known.  We  are  officers  and 
are  looking  for  a  murderer  who  has  been  hid- 
ing in  this  wilderness  many  years.  We  have 
heard  recently  that  he  has  a  cabin  on  one  of 
the  Musquacook  lakes,  and  we  are  bound  that 


256  THE   HERMIT 

way.  Every  guide  who  comes  into  this  region 
is  in  league  against  us  to  protect  this  murderer, 
and  for  that  reason  I  could  not  speak  freely 
before  yours. 

Then  Martin,  b'stening,  almost  gasped  for 
breath  at  this  admission.  This  peaceful  old 
hermit  who  taught  squirrels  to  love  him,  and 
whom  he  believed  to  be  Amzi  Curtis  —  a  mur- 
derer !  Impossible ! 

"You  are  wrong,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  a 
positive  tone,  "wholly  wrong,  and  I  know  it. 
I  found  that  hermit  you  are  after  last  spring, 
and  he  never  did  or  never  would  harm  a  fly 
out  of  malice." 

Then  he  told,  as  if  pleading  for  himself, 
what  manner  of  man  this  hermit  was,  and 
beyond  that,  whom  he  surmised  him  to  be. 

"No,  no,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  conclusion, 
"this  old  fellow  is  a  poor  half -demented  man 
whom  my  friend  and  myself  are  going  to  call 
on,  and  I  know  he  is  not  the  one  you  want." 

But  somehow  his  pleading  and  profuse  ex- 
planation failed  to  convince. 

"I  don't  doubt  you  believe  what  you  say 
and  are  honest,"  was  the  response,  "but  I 


UNEXPECTED   TROUBLE  257 

still  think  this  hermit,  as  you  call  him,  is  the 
chap  we  want." 

And  Martin,  returning  to  his  own  camp- 
fire,  felt  his  heart  sink  with  a  new  dread  sense 
of  danger. 

"  Levi,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  who  those 
men  are?" 

"  Game  wardens,  I  'spect." 

"  Worse  than  that ;  they  are  officers  on  their 
way  to  arrest  our  old  hermit  for  murder." 

Then  Martin  looked  at  old  Cy,  then  at  Jean, 
and  back  to  Levi  in  silence,  and  with  firm, 
set  lips. 

"Boys,"  he  said  at  last,  "it's  a  good  twenty- 
hours'  paddle  to  the  Musquacook.  We  have 
starlight  and  no  carries  —  what  do  you  say  ? " 

For  answer  Levi  began  to  draw  the  embers 
of  the  fire  apart. 

"The  sooner  they  think  we  have  turned 
in  the  sooner  they  will,"  he  said ;  "  'n'  then 
we  can  start." 

But  this  impending  danger  to  the  poor  old 
hermit  woke  Martin's  curiosity. 

"Levi,"  he  said,  while  they  waited,  "these, 
officers  are  on  a  wrong  scent,  I  am  sure,  but 
s 


258  THE   HERMIT 

are  after  some  criminal,  no  doubt.  Do  you 
know  of  any  who  have  been  or  are  now  in 
hiding  here  in  this  wilderness  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  answered  Levi,  "  but  there's  rea- 
sons why  I  don't  care  to  speak  out.  I  ain't 
shieldin'  no  murderers  by  keepin'  mum.  I'm 
just  mindin'  my  own  business,  V  not  tellin' 
things  that  might  end  in  my  bein'  a  mark  for 
a  bullet  some  day;  that  is  all." 

"Well,"  responded  Martin,  somewhat  sur- 
prised, "  I  think  I  understand  your  position, 
and  it's  all  right.  I  don't  want  to  get  you  into 
trouble,  you  may  be  sure,  or  to  give  any  one 
away;  but  at  least  you  can  tell  me  whether 
you  ever  heard  that  an  escaped  criminal  was 
hiding  in  this  wilderness.  It  won't  go  any 
farther,  I'll  give  you  my  word." 

And  then  Levi,  much  pressed,  told  this 
story :  — 

'*  I've  heerd  thar  was  one,  a  chap  by  the 
name  of  McGuire,  an*  he  had  the  name  o' 
bein'  a  bad  man.  I  ain't  sayin'  this  as  a  fact, 
only  just  what  I  heerd.  He  used  to  do  smug- 
glin'  years  ago  down  country,  fetchin'  rum  in 
from  the  Provinces,  'n'  then  Chinks  hid  in 


UNEXPECTED   TROUBLE  259 

coffins,  'n'  all  that  business.  Arter  that,  he 
kept  a  place  up  to  Grin'stun  where  lumbermen 
could  spend  thar  money  middlin'  quick  on  rum, 
cards,  'n'  sich.  They  used  ter  say  he  got  most 
on  't,  but  some  on  'em  made  a  fuss  'n'  took  the 
law  on  him,  'n'  then  he  dropped  back.  The 
next  I  heerd  he  was  up  to  St.  Francis  —  that's 
on  the  upper  St.  John  —  'n'  runnin'  the  same 
sort  o'  a  dive;  'n'  then  he  shot  a  warden  fer 
tryin'  ter  arrest  him  fer  dynamitin'  salmon  on 
spawnin'  beds,  'n'  then  he  took  to  the  woods. 
All  this  happened  some  years  ago,  'n'  thar's 
been  a  standin'  offer  of  a  thousand  dollars  fer 
him  ever  since.  I  ain't  heerd  he's  been  ketched, 
though." 

"  But  have  you  an  idea  that  the  chap  we 
found  with  a  bell  signal  last  spring  was  this 
McGuire  ? "  put  in  Martin,  eagerly ;  "  did  you 
think  so  then  ? " 

"  Why,  I  sorter  guessed  it  might  be,"  put  in 
Levi,  cautiously,  "but  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't 
tell  them  wardens,  if  you  meet  'em  agin.  It 
might  make  me  trouble.  I  ain't  over  fond  o' 
game  wardens  either,  fer  that  matter." 

Then  a  new  light  dawned  on  Martin. 


260  THE   HERMIT 

"  I  won't  give  you  away,  Old  Faithful,"  he 
said,  "and  not  a  hint  to  those  wardens,  you 
may  be  sure.  They  doubted  my  word  just 
now  when  I  was  telling  the  truth,  and  I  am 
'  agin  'em '  as  much  as  you  are.  We  will  beat 
them  to  the  old  hermit's  home  to-night,  if  our 
paddles  don't  break,  and  when  you  and  I  part 
company,  you  will  be  well  remembered." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

A   NIGHT   JOURNEY   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

FOR  an  hour  Martin  and  his  three  faithful 
allies  watched  the  other  camp-fire  from  in  hid- 
ing. At  last  it  died  down,  the  two  strange 
men  entered  their  tent,  and,  after  another 
tedious  wait,  Levi  crept  over  to  it,  returned, 
and  in  a  whisper  announced  that  they  were 
snoring.  After  hearing  this,  it  did  not  take 
long  for  the  four  to  pack  and  quietly  fold  their 
tent  like  the  Arab  and  silently  steal  away. 

The  bordering  forest  along  the  stream  was 
a  wall  of  almost  inky  darkness ;  its  course  was 
but  a  narrow,  winding  rift  between  these  walls 
and  barely  outlined  by  the  stars.  Now  and 
then  a  patch  of  foam,  caught  in  some  eddy, 
lay  like  a  prostrate  ghost  in  waiting,  tall  firs 
leaning  over  it,  and,  side  by  side,  the  two 
canoes,  like  two  huge  crocodiles  slowly  swim- 
ming, now  crept  up  the  stream.  Not  a  word, 
261 


262  THE   HERMIT 

not  a  whisper  even,  from  the  four  determined 
men,  bound  on  a  mission  of  protection  over  an 
unknown  old  hermit  who  might  not,  after  all, 
deserve  it.  It  was  a  dim  theory  and  faith  in 
a  long-range  guess  only  on  Martin's  part  that 
led  him  forward  on  that  all-night  journey,  and 
yet  that  was  Martin's  way.  Once  he  formed 
a  conclusion  he  never  halted  or  turned  back, 
but  pushed  on  until  he  proved  himself  right  or 
wrong. 

And  what  a  wild  night  journey  that  was 
under  the  stars  and  ever  on  and  on  into  the 
black  forest! 

No  use  to  turn  back  —  no  waiting,  welcoming 
light  ahead,  but  ever  the  same  dark,  forbidding 
wilderness,  ghostly  and  spectral.  The  black 
current  they  faced,  veered  and  twisted  from 
side  to  side,  ever  disputing  their  progress ; 
owls  hooted  out  of  swamps,  loons  saluted 
them  with  half-human  despairing  cries,  when 
a  broad  lakelet  in  the  stream  was  reached, 
while  ever  and  anon  from  out  the  darkness, 
came  the  scream  of  a  wildcat  or  panther. 

Sometimes  the  way  grew  uncertain  where  the 
stream  broadened  in  a  swamp,  and  here  they 


A  NIGHT  JOURNEY  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    263 

poked  into  beds  of  reeds,  or  nosed  into  clumps 
of  alders,  at  last  to  find  the  current  again  and 
enter  the  forest  once  more.  Now  and  then 
they  halted  to  rest,  fill  their  pipes,  and  ex- 
change greetings  in  whispers,  for  the  wilder- 
ness at  night  ever  awes  and  loud  speech  seems 
dangerous.  And  so  on  and  on,  hour  after 
hour,  each  man  patiently  wielding  his  paddle, 
while  backs  ached,  arms  grew  tired  and  eyes 
dim  with  watching,  until  at  last  a  broadening 
lake  was  reached  just  as  the  gray  light  of 
coming  morn  drove  away  the  darkness.  With 
renewed  courage  it  was  soon  crossed  and  there, 
in  the  same  cove,  and  on  the  same  sandy  shore 
where  Martin  and  the  doctor  had  camped, 
the  canoes  were  drawn  out  and  the  weird  night 
journey  ended. 

"  We  have  got  to  sleep  a  little,  boys,"  as- 
serted Martin,  looking  into  the  tired  faces  of 
the  rest,  and  especially  old  Cy,  whose  hollovr 
eyes  looked  ghastly.  "  I  confess  I'm  well 
tired  out." 

"  It  wa'n't  the  paddlin'  that  tuckered  me  so 
much  as  the  feelin'  skeery  all  the  time,"  re- 
sponded old  Cy.  "It  sorter  seemed  's  tho* 


264  THE   HERMIT 

sum  wild  critter  was  like  to  jump  out  o'  the 
woods  any  minnit." 

But  conversation  was  at  a  discount,  and, 
without  waiting  for  tent  raising,  or  even  cutting 
bough  beds,  each  man  rolled  himself  in  his 
blanket  and  the  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 

And  what  a  picture  greeted  them  two  hours 
later  when  the  September  sun,  now  well  up, 
smiled  down  into  that  rippled  lake,  blue  and 
sparkling  !  Overhead  a  fish-hawk  was  circling ; 
across  on  a  tall  dead  tree-top  sat  a  gray  forest 
eagle ;  a  flock  of  ducks  paddled  to  and  fro 
along  the  margin  of  a  bed  of  wild  rice,  while 
just  above  and  nearer  shore,  stood  an  antlered 
deer  knee  deep  in  the  water. 

Best  of  all,  no  sight  or  sound  of  aught 
human  was  visible. 

The  picture  was  so  woodlike,  so  romantic, 
so  perfect  with  the  two  canoes  side  by  side 
on  the  sandy  shore,  kissed  by  the  ripples,  it 
almost  brought  tears  to  old  Cy,  unused  to 
such. 

"  If  I'd  got  to  shut  my  eyes  fer  good,"  he 
said,  after  a  long  look  with  face  upraised  to 
where  the  eagle  sat,  "I'd  like  to  do  it  right 


"  MEBBE  GOD  HAS  CONCLUDED  TO  BE  GOOD  TO  ME,  NOW  I'M  GITTIN'  OLD" 

Page  265 


A  NIGHT  JOURNEY  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     265 

now  'n'  carry  this  picter  with  me  into  kingdom 
come.  I  thought  I  knew  what  bein'  in  the 
woods  meant,  but  I  never  did  afore.  Mebbe 
God's  concluded  to  be  good  to  me  now  I'm 
gittin'  old.  They  call  me  an  infiddle  in 
Greenvale,"  he  added  a  little  sadly,  "but  I 
ain't,  'n'  I  never  go  through  thick  woods  when 
it's  sorter  shadowy  'n'  still,  but  I  feel  jist  as 
if  God  was  keepin'  me  company  'n'  I'd  orter 
step  light.  Lookin'  up  at  a  mountain  also 
'fects  me  the  same  way,  'n'  I  jist  can't  help 
takin'  my  hat  off." 

And  Martin,  touched  by  the  simple  reverence 
of  old  Cy,  felt  a  new  admiration  for  him. 

But  a  duty  of  protection  and  rescue  lay 
ahead,  and  there  was  an  immediate  need  of 
food.  It  did  not  take  Levi  long  to  start  a 
fire,  and  while  the  slices  of  venison  grew 
fragrant  as  they  broiled,  the  coffee  mingled  its 
aroma  with  the  resinous  odor  of  the  forest, 
and  the  boiling  potatoes  sent  steam  aloft,  all 
enjoyed  a  vigorous  wash  in  the  clear  lake 
water. 

"  I  think  we've  stolen  a  good  march  on 
those  rascals  who  doubted  my  word,"  said 


266  THE   HERMIT 

Martin,  as  he  peeled  a  potato,  then,  spearing 
a  brown  slice  of  venison  off  the  wire  broilers 
and  dropping  it  into  old  Cy's  tin  plate,  he 
secured  another  for  himself,  added,  "they 
must  have  gasped  for  breath  when  they  woke 
up  and  found  us  gone." 

"  They'll  follow,  fast  enough,"  returned  Levi, 
taking  his  share  of  good  things,  now  that  the 
need  of  haste  was  evident,  "  they  want  to  earn 
that  thousand  dollars  ez  has  been  offered  for 
McGuire.  We've  got  a  good  six  hours'  start 
on  'em,  even  'lowin'  daylight  paddlin',"  he 
added,  glancing  at  the  sun,  "  'n'  time  enough 
to  hide  the  hermit  where  they  can't  find  him, 
that  is,  'lowin'  he's  the  man  you  want." 

Martin  looked  at  his  guide  in  surprise.  He 
had  confided  to  him  the  object  of  his  trip; 
what  Levi  knew  of  this  McGuire's  history  he 
had  imparted  before  that  long  night  journey, 
but  no  definite  plan  of  action  had  been  agreed 
upon  so  far. 

"I'm  going  to  let  you  manage  this  affair," 
replied  Martin,  after  a  pause.  "You  know 
the  woods,  you  know  the  danger,  and  what  I 
want.  If  the  hermit  is  the  man  I  think,  we 


A  NIGHT  JOURNEY   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     267 

must  keep  him  out  of  these  officers'  hands  if 
we  have  to  tie  him  hand  and  foot  and  carry 
him  off  bodily." 

"I  wished  we'd  got  more  time,"  returned 
Levi,  thoughtfully;  "we're  in  a  sort  o'  pocket 
up  thar,  'n'  'bout  the  only  chance  o'  gittin'  out 
is  down  the  way  we  go  in,  'n'  that  means  run- 
nin'  right  into  these  ossifers,  sure  pop.  Thar's 
a  small  stream  comin'  into  that  lake  whar  he  is, 
but  ye  can't  work  up  it  more  'n  a  mile  'n'  it 
ends  in  a  beaver  dam.  D — n  'em,"  he  muttered 
a  little  later,  "  I  wish  we  could  start  'em  up 
toward  the  Moosehorn  'n'  the  hut  with  the  sig- 
nal wire.  That's  one  o'  McGuire's  hidin'-spots, 
I've  a  notion." 

But  time  was  flying,  Martin  uneasy  to  be  off, 
and  the  moment  breakfast  was  eaten,  the 
smouldering  fire  was  drenched  with  water  to 
leave  no  smoke  sign,  and  the  canoes  pushed 
off. 

And  now  came  an  exhibition  of  woodcraft 
new  even  to  Martin.  Levi,  always  the  last  to 
get  into  his  canoe,  waited  until  the  other  had 
moved  out,  then,  stepping  into  the  water, 
reached  back  with  his  paddle  and  levelled 


268  THE   HERMIT 

every  track  in  the  sand  and  smoothed  down 
the  furrows  cut  by  canoe  bows  when  they 
landed,  then  with  a  tin  cup  he  threw  water 
over  them  all. 

"  They  may  find  somebody  built  a  fire,"  he 
said,  as  he  took  his  seat,  "  but  they  can't  tell 
when." 

And  now  forward  once  more  into  and  up  the 
slow-running  stream,  Martin  and  the  doctor 
had  ascended,  as  they  supposed  in  pursuit  of  a 
wild  man.  It  seemed  longer  now,  for  pursuers 
were  hot  after  them.  It  lent  vigor  to  their  pad- 
dling, however,  and  when  the  quick  water  was 
reached,  and  they  halted  for  a  breathing  spell, 
Martin  consulted  his  watch  and  was  astonished 
to  find  it  not  yet  ten.  He  had  been  so  keyed 
up  with  excitement,  the  night  journey,  the  brief 
sleep  and  all,  that  he  had  lost  sense  of  time. 
He  had  not  even  noticed  the  sun.  It  was  reas- 
suring in  one  way,  for  they  must  still  be  many 
hours  in  advance  of  their  pursuers,  and  they 
pushed  on  with  rising  spirits. 

For  over  two  months  now  Martin  had  been 
slowly  reaching  the'  conclusion  that  this  old 
hermit  must  be  the  long-missing  Amzi.  At 


A  NIGHT  JOURNEY  IN   THE   WILDERNESS     269 

first  a  vague  suspicion,  then  a  probability,  and 
at  last  —  so  many  times  had  he  thought  of  it, 
comparing  and  shifting  all  data  and  gossip,  re- 
calling the  old  hermit's  looks  and  nature  as  he 
found  them,  with  all  reports,  that  now  he  was 
ready  to  stake  his  life  almost  that  the  long 
mystery  would  be  solved  and  the  hermit  found 
to  be  Angle's  father.  There  were  other  and 
stronger  chords  than  curiosity.  His  memory  of 
boyhood  days  and  Angie  —  his  more  mature 
and  deeper  love  for  her  now  —  the  realization  of 
how  she  had  been  wronged,  and  beyond  these,  a 
burning  desire  to  teach  that  miserly  hypocrite, 
her  uncle,  a  lesson  in  common  honesty  and 
manhood,  moved  him  to  action. 

And  just  ahead,  shining  in  the  sunlight, 
was  the  little  lake  across  which  might  be  the 
one  who  could  solve  all  mystery  and  serve 
justice. 

Martin  could  hardly  wait,  and,  although 
weary  by  loss  of  sleep  and  long  hours  of 
steady  paddling,  when  the  prow  of  his  canoe 
emerged  from  the  tangle  of  alders  and  glided 
into  the  lake,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  thicket  of 
spruce  where  the  hut  stood,  and  never  lowered 


2/O  THE   HERMIT 

them  until  his  canoe  bow  grated  on  the  sandy 
landing. 

Then,  leaping  ashore,  he  halted. 

"  You  had  better  go  first,"  he  said  to  old  Cy, 
"  the  shock  of  seeing  you  may  waken  his  mem- 
ory. It's  only  a  few  rods  up  this  path  to  the 
hut." 

Half  dreading,  and  yet  longing  to  end  the 
suspense,  Martin  followed  his  companion.  Up 
the  steep  bank,  among  the  thick-growing  trees 
they  crept  stealthily  until  the  stump-dotted  gar- 
den opened  into  view,  and  beside  it  the  hut. 
The  fence  was  still  in  place,  weeds  and  dried 
corn  stalks  filled  the  garden,  and  as  old  Cy 
opened  the  little  gate  and  halted  before  the 
cabin,  the  squirrels  frisked  and  chattered  with 
sudden  interest. 

But  the  door  was  closed,  and  what  was  more 
discouraging,  a  bank  of  dry  leaves  had  gathered 
at  its  foot.  Cautiously,  and  with  sinking  heart 
Martin  crept  up,  pushed  the  door  open  and 
looked  in. 

The  hut  was  empty. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

A    DESERTED    CABIN 

FOR  a  few  moments  Martin  stood  looking 
into  that  deserted  hut,  at  the  narrow  bunk  on 
one  side,  the  shelf-like  table  with  its  few  dishes 
washed  clean  and  piled  together,  the  two  rude 
stools,  tiny  stove,  pots,  and  pans.  Then  he 
turned  to  old  Cy. 

"  Our  night  paddle  was  useless,"  he  said  in  a 
dejected  tone,  "the  hermit's  gone." 

And  absent  he  had  been  for  many  weeks, 
as  their  observant  eyes  soon  saw.  Not  only 
had  the  falling  leaves  drifted  up  against  the 
door  since  last  closed,  but  tiny  shoots  of  grass 
had  grown  in  the  pathway  and  the  garden  had 
been  left  undisturbed  since  midsummer.  It  was 
here  that  the  long-continued  absence  of  its 
owner  was  most  in  evidence.  The  ripened  ears 
of  corn  had  been  picked  clean  by  crows  and 
squirrels,  bean  pods  lay  rotting  on  the  ground, 
and  a  tangle  of  weeds  covered  the  plot. 
271 


2/2  THE   HERMIT 

"  There's  one  thing  we  kin  do,  anyhow,"  said 
old  Cy,  when  the  examination  was  ended,  "  we 
kin  lay  low  round  here  'n'  watch  them  ossifers 
git  fooled." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  his  bubbling  sense 
of  humor  was  consoling  to  Martin  just  now,  and 
the  two  returned  to  the  landing  where  a  con- 
sultation was  held.  It  ended  in  a  decision  to 
cross  the  lake,  ascend  a  tributary  stream,  and, 
hiding  the  canoes,  return  through  the  woods, 
and,  as  old  Cy  said,  "  Lay  low."  This  was 
carried  out,  and,  an  hour  later,  Levi  stationed 
at  the  landing  as  an  outer  guard,  while  the  rest 
found  good  hiding-places. 

They  had  another  hour's  wait,  and  then  Levi 
joined  them  with  the  information  that  the  ex- 
pected visitors  were  just  crossing  the  lake. 

It  was  not  really  courteous  conduct  on 
Martin's  part  to  thus  play  spy,  but  somehow 
he  felt  unkindly  toward  these  minions  of  the 
law  who  doubted  his  word,  and  when  they 
approached  the  cabin,  was  willing  to  listen. 

"  Guess  the  bird  has  flown,"  said  the  leader, 
as  he  halted  before  the  hut  and  glanced  at  the 
little  bank  of  leaves.  Then,  pushing  the  door 


A   DESERTED   CABIN  273 

in,  he  looked  long,  turned  about,  and  added, 
"  I  wonder  where  those  fellows  are  who  gave 
us  the  slip." 

"  I've  a  notion  we  may  have  passed  'em  be- 
low here,"  responded  his  companion,  "and 
they'll  show  up  later." 

Then  they  ransacked  the  garden,  returned 
and  entered  the  cabin,  and  made  a  more  com- 
plete examination. 

"  He's  been  hiding  here  a  good  long  time,"  as- 
serted the  leader,  appearing  again  and  glancing 
at  the  vines  almost  covering  the  hut.  "This 
shack's  been  built  all  of  ten  years  or  more." 

"  Well,  did  you  ever  ? "  he  exclaimed  in  aston- 
ishment, as  a  squirrel  suddenly  appeared  from 
behind  the  cabin,  ran  up  to  him,  halted,  and  the 
next  instant  was  on  his  shoulder.  "  Here,  you 
varmint,  git  off,"  he  added,  striking  at  the  pretty 
creature,  who  leaped  to  the  ground  chattering. 

Then  the  two  men  looked  at  one  another,  for 
that  frisking  squirrel's  conduct  was  a  revelation. 

"I'm  not  just  sure  it's  McGuire's  hiding-spot 
after  all,"  asserted  one. 

"  Nor  I  either,"  responded  the  other.  "  This 
hut's  been  built  twice  ten  years,  or  I'm  no 

T 


2/4  THE   HERMIT 

guesser ;  and  McGuire  wa'n't  the  chap  to  tame 
squirrels  that  way." 

Then  he  glanced  at  the  sun,  now  well  down, 
and  added,  "  We  might  as  well  camp  here  to- 
night and  save  trouble,  besides  there's  taters 
and  onions  in  the  garden." 

When  the  two  had  returned  to  their  canoe. 
Martin  softly  whistled  to  his  companions,  and 
they  also  vanished  into  the  woods  to  hold  a  con- 
sultation when  secure  from  discovery. 

"Wai,"  said  old  Cy,  chuckling,  "they've 
skinned  us  out  o'  a  good  camping  spot  'n'  now 
what's  to  be  done  ? " 

It  was  a  poser,  and  Martin,  seating  himself  on 
a  fallen  tree  trunk,  stroked  his  chin  and  reflected. 

"They'll  light  out  in  the  morning,"  he  said 
at  last,  "  and  until  then  are  welcome  to  the  hut. 
I've  no  use  for  them.  Think  of  a  brute  in  the 
shape  of  a  man  who  would  knock  a  harmless 
squirrel  off  his  shoulder  !  " 

The  fact  was  that  Martin  had  conceived  a 
sudden  and  really  causeless  dislike  for  these 
two  men  who  were  only  doing  their  duty. 

"  It'll  be  dark  'fore  we  know  it,"  asserted  old 
Cy,  glancing  into  the  shadowy  forest,  "  'n'  it's  a 


A   DESERTED   CABIN  2/5 

good  spell  back  to  the  canoes.  Mebbe  we 
better  push  on." 

And  push  on  they  did,  back  to  the  concealed 
canoes,  and  a  camp  for  the  night.  And  later 
around  the  camp-fire  a  consultation  was  held 
in  earnest. 

"  We  are  here  to  find  that  hermit,"  asserted 
Martin,  after  all  surmises  as  to  his  whereabouts 
had  been  exhausted,  "  and  hunt  for  him  we  will 
until  snow  flies." 

"Amzi  used  to  have  the  same  trick  o' 
wanderin'  off  fer  days,"  responded  old  Cy, 
pointedly,  "  V  he'll  be  back  here  bimeby." 

Martin  smiled  the  first  time  in  hours. 

"  You  seem  sure  it's  Amzi,"  he  said,  grateful 
for  the  assurance. 

"  Sartin  I  do,  'n'  more'n  that,  he  ain't  dead  ez 
I  callate  your  thinkin' ;  I'd  feel  it  if  he  was." 

The  camp-fire  conference  terminated  early, 
for  the  loss  of  sleep  was  felt  by  all,  and  when, 
late  the  next  morning,  Martin  crept  out  of  the 
tent,  Levi  and  one  canoe  were  missing  while 
Jean  was  busy  cooking  breakfast. 

It  was  eaten,  and  Martin  was  getting  uneasy 
at  Levi's  prolonged  absence  when  he  appeared. 


2/6  THE   HERMIT 

"They've  gone,  bag  and  baggage,"  he  as- 
serted with  elation,  "  I  watched  till  I  see  'em 
shove  off  'n'  leave  the  lake." 

But  this  did  not  solve  the  problem  of  where 
the  hermit  was,  and  Martin  was  as  nonplussed 
as  ever.  Immediate  danger  to  him  was  re- 
moved for  the  present,  but  where  was  the  her- 
mit ?  They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  wilderness 
hundreds  of  miles  in  extent  and  traversed  by 
streams  running  toward  every  point  of  the  com- 
pass. To  go  in  search  of  this  strange  recluse 
was  sure  to  be  like  hunting  for  the  proverbial 
needle,  and  Martin  realized  it. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,"  he  said  at 
last  in  a  despondent  tone,  "and  that  is,  stay 
around  here  with  the  hope  that  he  may  return. 
He  has  evidently  been  away  from  his  hut 
many  weeks,  and  therefore  all  the  more  likely 
to  be  back  soon."  Then,  turning  to  old  Cy,  he 
added  jokingly,  "  How  would  you  like  to  go 
hunting  for  the  wild  man  we  found  up  the 
Moosehorn,  just  to  kill  time  ?  There  is  another 
and  more  mysterious  log  cabin  up  that  way  that 
would  be  interesting." 

"You  kin  go,"  responded  old  Cy,  candidly, 


A  DESERTED  CABIN  277 

"'n'  let  me  stay  here  'n'  watch  fer  Amzi.  I 
won't  be  lunsome,  'n'  maybe  he  may  come  any 
day.  I'd  like  to  ketch  sight  o'  that  wild  man, 
but  I'd  a  good  deal  rather  ketch  sight  o'  Amzi." 

"We  might  go  down  to  the  lake  where  we 
slept  in  the  bushes  and  camp  there  while  wait- 
ing," said  Martin,  thoughtfully ;  "  he's  likely  to 
return  that  way." 

Then  Levi  suggested  that  they  take  posses- 
sion of  the  hermit's  hut,  since  it  had  been  left 
unlocked.  But  Martin  said  no  to  that  promptly, 
and,  as  leaving  the  spot  at  all  had  obvious  draw- 
backs, in  the  end  they  decided  to  camp  in  a 
little  cove  just  around  from  the  hermit's  land- 
ing spot  and  there  await  him.  To  take  posses- 
sion of  even  his  miserable  hovel  was  against 
Martin's  feelings,  and  more  than  that,  while  the 
guides  were  establishing  a  permanent  camp, 
he  and  old  Cy  returned  to  the  cabin,  and  tried 
to  remove  all  evidence  of  the  other  men's 
visit.  Like  many  who  hesitate  at  no  vandal- 
ism, they  had  used  part  of  the  stake  fence  for 
fuel,  dug  up  and  carried  off  many  of  the  pota- 
toes and  onions,  and  left  the  debris  of  their 
meals  to  mould  on  the  table. 


2/8  THE   HERMIT 

"  D — n,"  muttered  Martin,  as  he  looked  at 
the  desecration  of  this  pitiful  home,  "  I'd  like 
to  kick  them,  one  at  a  time,  from  here  to  the 
lake  and  then  pitch  them  in." 

"  No  use  gittin'  ruffled,"  answered  old  Cy, 
"  hogs  is  hogs  the  world  over,  'n'  always  leave 
their  tracks."  Then  he  seated  himself  on  a  stump 
and  chirped  to  one  of  the  squirrels  who  frisked 
and  chattered,  and  then  leaped  into  his  lap. 

And  now  ensued  a  week  of  pleasant  camp 
life,  devoid  of  incident,  but  delightful  to  old 
Cy,  and,  as  may  be  surmised  from  his  method  of 
life  in  Greenvale,  where  he  was  content  to  live 
alone  in  a  hovel,  work  for  Aunt  Comfort  part 
of  the  time  and  fish  and  hunt  the  rest,  he  bor- 
rowed no  trouble  and  had  few  wants.  If  it 
rained,  he  remained  under  shelter;  if  it  was 
cold,  he  kept  close  to  the  fire,  oblivious  to 
whether  he  had  more  than  a  day's  fuel  on 
hand,  and  as  for  clothes  —  well,  if  they  cov- 
ered his  nakedness  and  kept  him  warm,  why, 
patches  were  as  serviceable  as  the  original 
material.  And  yet  he  was  honest  and  kind- 
hearted  to  a  fault,  loving  his  fellow-men  —  if  in 
sympathy  with  him — far  better  than  himself, 


A   DESERTED   CABIN  279 

and  keenly  alive  to  the  beauties  of  nature  and 
not  devoid  of  reverence  for  the  Almighty.  Be- 
yond that  and  like  Aunt  Comfort,  he  had  an 
abiding  faith  that  all  wrongs  would  be  righted 
sooner  or  later,  and  everybody  get  what  they 
deserved.  And  now  he  firmly  believed  that  the 
long-missing  Amzi  would  in  due  time  return  in 
the  person  of  this  old  hermit;  and  meanwhile 
they  had  a  chance  to  enjoy  this  hunter's  paradise. 

"  The  only  critter  I  miss  here  is  my  dog," 
he  observed  at  the  close  of  the  first  day,  when 
they  returned  to  camp  with  a  handsome  buck 
and  a  dozen  partridge;  "I've  sorter  got  used 
to  talking  to  him  when  I'm  content,  V  he 
alms  understands  me.  A  dog's  better  'n  most 
humans  fer  company,  'n'  ketchin'  the  drift  o' 
yer  feelin's  quicker.  Once  a  dog  loves  yer, 
it's  alms  the  same  —  never  changes,  and  ye 
don't  have  to  keep  warmin'  it  up.  Me  'n' 
Amzi  use'  to  be  that  way,  an'  ud  be  so  now, 
if  he  hadn't  gone  queer." 

To  Martin  also,  now  that  he  was  forced  to 
remain  content,  old  Cy  was  charming  com- 
pany, and  his  cheerful  optimism,  keen  enjoy- 
ment of  wood  life,  and  childish  gratitude  for 


280  THE   HERMIT 

this,  the  one  supreme  and  altogether  glorious 
episode  of  his  life,  a  daily  source  of  pleasure. 
And,  too,  the  old  man  transmitted  to  Martin  some 
of  his  philosophic  content  and  certainty  that  this 
expedition  would  turn  out  all  right  in  the  end. 

And  so  the  balmy  Indian  summer  days  wore  on. 

Each  morning  and  night  they  visited  the 
hut,  lest  its  owner  return  unawares,  and  on 
these  calls  old  Cy  always  had  a  handful  of 
nuts  ready  for  the  squirrels,  who  soon  recog- 
nized a  friend,  and  invariably  ran  to  meet  him. 
And  how  short  those  halcyon  days  were,  even 
to  impatient  Martin !  They  journeyed  up  the 
stream  that  entered  this  lake,  watched  the  deer 
feeding  in  the  woods,  surprised  otter,  mink,  and 
muskrat  in  their  haunts,  and  by  patient  wait- 
ing saw  the  beavers  at  work  on  their  dam. 
They  caught  a  few  trout  in  the  spring  hole  that 
the  hermit  had  located  for  Martin,  and,  when 
more  meat  was  needed,  killed  another  deer. 

One  week  and  then  another  of  this  match- 
less existence  passed,  and  then  one  morning, 
as  they  drew  near  to  the  hut,  there,  sitting  on 
the  bench  in  front,  hatless,  coatless,  with  tan- 
gled white  hair  and  beard,  was  the  hermit ! 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE    BIRTH    OF    NEW    THOUGHT 

THERE  were  a  few  in  Greenvale  who  doubted 
the  Reverend  Jones's  orthodoxy.  Squire  Phin- 
ney  was  one,  Cap'n  Tobey  (who  kept  the  village 
tavern)  another,  and  who,  while  admitting  the 
Bible  was  correct  in  asserting  man  should  take 
a  little  wine  for  his  stomach's  sake,  questioned 
the  truth  of  Jonah's  experience  and  the  story 
of  the  deluge.  This  small  coterie  of  incipient 
heretics,  though  attending  church  with  semi- 
regularity,  met  as  often  in  Cap'n  Tobey's 
hostelry  or  Phinney's  store,  and  held  a  little 
service  of  their  own,  where  these  Biblical 
stories  were  discussed,  pro  and  con,  and  the 
seeds  of  doubt  and  scepticism  sown.  Some 
held  that  the  Bible  was  all  literally  true,  others 
that  it  was  partially  so,  and  a  few,  while  neither 
infidels  nor  atheists,  asserted  that  no  part  of  it 
was  to  be  believed  except  as  it  seemed  reason- 
281 


282  THE   HERMIT 

able.  The  orthodox  creed  and  the  Reverend 
Jones's  sermons  also  came  up  for  considera- 
tion, and  while  the  sturdy  farmers  sat  around 
Phinney's  stove  on  winter  evenings,  their  heavy 
boots  steaming  on  the  iron  rail  surrounding  it, 
chewing  tobacco  or  smoking,  the  location  and 
probability  of  the  place  of  eternal  punishment 
and  the  injustice  of  predestination,  foreordina- 
tion,  and  infant  damnation  were  gravely  dis- 
cussed. 

In  time  a  few  newcomers,  with  less  veneration 
for  the  parson  and  more  outspoken  in  thought, 
settled  in  Greenvale,  and  the  nucleus  of  the 
Unitarian  church  society  came  into  existence. 
There  were  social  causes  also  that  aided  in 
bringing  this  about. 

The  first  and  most  powerful,  of  course,  was 
the  growing  doubt  and  lack  of  faith  in  the 
Reverend  Jones's  orthodox  teachings.  They  be- 
lieved he  was  a  good  man  and  meant  well, 
but  was  mistaken,  and  that  his  clinging  to 
a  literal  interpretation  of  some  parts  of  the 
Bible  proved  it.  They  had  gravely  weighed 
Jonah's  exploits,  Samson's  conduct,  and  Noah's 
ship-building,  and  found  them  wanting.  Sol- 


THE   BIRTH   OF  NEW  THOUGHT  283 

omon's  domestic  example  was  pernicious ; 
David's  morals  worse,  and  Adam's  shifting 
the  blame  on  to  Eve  unfair.  Then  the  un- 
ending repetition  of  God's  plan  of  salvation 
and  its  reason,  the  glories  of  heaven,  the 
agonies  of  hell,  the  nature  of  the  devil,  why 
he  was  created,  how  powerful  he  was,  and  all 
the  long  category  of  Calvinism  dwelt  upon  by 
Jones  year  after  year,  had  become  tiresome, 
and  the  oftener  they  listened  to  it,  the  less 
they  believed  it.  Then  another  factor  carried 
influence.  The  village  had  taken  sides  for 
and  against  David  Curtis  when  his  brother 
disappeared,  and  the  parson  was  on  David's 
side.  There  were,  of  course,  well  known  and 
selfish  reasons  for  this,  but  they  did  not  add 
to  the  Reverend  Jones's  credit  for  fair  play 
and  justice,  and  as  time  went  on  and  the  anti- 
David  side  grew  in  numbers,  his  influence 
waned.  These  causes  finally  culminated  in 
direct  action,  the  formation  of  another  society, 
and  the  erection  of  a  modest  house  of  wor- 
ship called  the  Unitarian  church.  Its  follow- 
ing, however,  was  small  in  numbers.  Some 
who  had  advocated  it  at  first  failed  to  respond 


284  THE   HERMIT 

financially.  The  Reverend  Jones,  of  course, 
attacked  those  who  did  with  all  manner  of 
invective,  calling  them  heretics  and  even  in- 
fidels. The  minister,  who  was  called  to  lead 
this  little  band,  found  it  impossible  to  live  on 
the  meagre  salary  paid,  and  what  with  Jones's 
opposition  and  lack  of  moneyed  support,  the 
movement  failed,  and  the  new  church  closed 
its  doors.  They  remained  closed  until  Martin 
Frisbie  returned  to  Greenvale,  and  then  one 
evening  in  Squire  Phinney's  store,  like  a  spark 
long  buried  in  ashes,  the  movement  came  to 
life  again. 

It  was  all  due  to  an  unusually  severe  ser- 
mon preached  by  Jones  the  previous  Sunday, 
and  now  criticised  sharply  by  the  squire  in 
the  presence  of  Martin  and  a  half  dozen  more, 
formerly  identified  with  the  Unitarian  society. 

"  Guess  the  contribution  boxes  must  'a'  bin 
comin'  in  light  lately,  the  way  Jones  pitched 
into  us  last  Sunday,"  Phinney  remarked ; 
"  I've  allus  noticed  when  quarters  and  halves 
was  skeerce  in  the  boxes  one  Sunday,  we  gin- 
erally  git  hell  an'  brimstun  the  next.  It's  as 
sartin  a  sign  as  tree-toads  is  o'  rain." 


THE   BIRTH   OF  NEW  THOUGHT  285 

"And  does  it  work  well  and  fill  them  the 
next  Sunday  ? "  laughed  Martin  ;  "  if  it  does, 
you  can't  blame  him.  He's  got  to  live  some- 
how." 

"  That's  so,"  rejoined  the  squire,  "  but  the 
trouble  is,  them  as  has  mpney  to  give  here 
ain't  skeered  no  more  by  bein'  shook  over 
hell  —  they've  got  used  to  it  for  one  thing, 
and  another  is  they  don't  believe  in  hell  'n' 
pitchforks  no  more." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  you  good  people 
here  doubt  any  of  Mr.  Jones's  venerable 
creeds?"  returned  Martin,  looking  from  one 
to  another  of  the  group  with  an  amused 
smile ;  "  I  am  astonished  at  such  heresy." 

"Well,  ye  needn't  be,"  returned  the  squire, 
testily,  "we  ain't  all  on  us  asleep  here  all  the 
time,  'n'  if  we  had  money  enough,  we'd  have 
another  church-goin'  in  no  time.  We'  tried 
it  once,  but  it  sorter  petered  out.  Mebbe 
'twas  from  lack  o'  brimstun  preachin'.  Arter 
all,"  he  added  after  a  pause,  "  mebbe  Jones 
is  right  in  his  idee  of  skeerin'  folks  to  make 
'em  pay.  But  I  don't  believe  it  yit,  an'  never 
shall." 


286  THE   HERMIT 

Then  others  chimed  in  in  support  of  the 
squire  and  a  general  arraignment  of  the  par- 
son's old-line  orthodoxy. 

"  He's  like  a  tree  as  is  done  growin',"  as- 
serted one,  "  'n'  puts  out  no  new  shoots.  He 
jist  grinds  the  same  grist  o'  thought  over  'n' 
over  agin,  Sunday  arter  Sunday,  an'  ye  kin 
tell  what  he's  goin'  to  say  the  minnit  he  gives 
the  text." 

"  I've  outgrowed  a  devil  with  hoofs  and 
horns,"  added  another,  "  an'  don't  take  no 
more  stock  in  Jonah  or  the  ark  business.  I 
don't  b'lieve  the  Almighty  is  a  Bein'  any  on 
us  understands,  'n'  Jones  makin'  out  he  knows 
His  plans  an'  intentions,  is  all  bosh.  He's 
gin  us  laws  ter  foller  'n'  consciences  to  obey, 
an'  that's  all  thar  is  to  religion,  anyhow." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  gentlemen," 
asserted  Martin,  after  listening  awhile  to  these 
heterodox  admissions,  "  I  have  a  young  friend  by 
the  name  of  Upson  who  is  a  recent  graduate  of 
a  divinity  school,  an  eloquent  speaker  of  liberal 
tendencies  and  one  whom  I  would  like  to  assist 
—  now  if  you  are  tired  of  Jones's  theology  and 
feel  like  listening  to  this  young  man,  I'll 


THE   BIRTH   OF   NEW  THOUGHT  287 

make  you  a  proposition :  circulate  a  subscrip- 
tion paper  and  obtain  a  monthly  guarantee  of 
sufficient  money  to  pay  him  a  living  salary,  then 
repair  the  old  Unitarian  church  and  make  it 
habitable,  and  I'll  pay  the  bill  for  that.  I'll  also 
subscribe  toward  the  salary." 

It  was  an  astounding  proposition,  and  may 
have  come  more  from  Martin's  desire  to  install 
himself  in  Greenvale's  good-will  than  to  incul- 
cate a  new  gospel;  but  that  mattered  not. 
Greenvaleites  were  not  addicted  to  over  close 
examination  of  gift-horses,  and  Martin's  propo- 
sition was  then  and  there  accepted  by  all 
present.  More  than  that,  so  ready  was  the  soil 
for  new  seed  that  the  requisite  subscriptions 
were  obtained  in  a  day,  and  when  he  and  old  Cy 
left  for  the  wilderness,  a  gang  of  men  were  at 
work  on  the  long-vacant  church  that  had  been 
used  as  a  storehouse  for  farming  tools,  and  it 
was  well  on  its  way  toward  reconstruction. 

As  might  be  expected,  this  new  movement 
caused  even  more  gossip  than  David's  ghostly 
visitor  and  consequent  illness  ;  in  fact,  Martin 
and  his  actions  since  his  return  had  been  a 
storm  centre  of  gossip,  and  this  last  exploit  sur- 


288  THE   HERMIT 

passed  all  that  had  gone  before  it.  It  landed 
him  on  the  top  wave  of  popularity  with  the 
majority  of  Green  vale's  citizens,  of  course,  and 
only  a  few  of  the  most  bigoted  of  Jones's  fol- 
lowers, led  by  him,  dared  speak  ill  of  the  inno- 
vation. He,  as  might  be  expected,  was  in  sore 
distress  over  it  and  missed  no  chance  to  cry  it 
down.  He  denounced  it  from  the  pulpit  as 
a  secret  emanation  from  the  devil,  sure  to 
undermine  the  foundation  of  faith  and  the  true 
gospel,  and  in  private  lamented  that  he  in  his 
old  age  should  be  exposed  to  such  an  arrogant 
assault.  He  even  enlarged  upon  the  trite  saw 
that  the  love  of  money  was  the  root  of  all  evil, 
and  this  young  man  must  be  ungodly,  since  he 
belonged  to  no  church  and  had  come  here  to 
flaunt  his  illgotten  wealth  in  the  faces  of  the 
sanctified. 

"  It's  a  hit  bird  as  allus  flutters,  V  a  stuck  pig 
as  allus  squeals,"  remarked  Squire  Phinney, 
when  told  of  the  parson's  lamentations,  and 
as  his  homely  philosophy  fairly  expressed 
the  opinion  of  the  majority,  that  is  sufficient. 

Angie  and  Aunt  Comfort,  of  course,  heard 
both  sides  of  this  discussion,  and  while  the 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NEW  THOUGHT  289 

latter  discreetly  praised  Martin's  public  spirit, 
Angie  felt  it  an  unfortunate  action.  She  was, 
as  has  been  explained,  abnormally  sensitive  to 
public  criticism  or  notice  of  any  kind.  That 
reticence  had  been  the  basis  of  her  own  and  Aunt 
Comfort's  refusal  to  take  any  legal  action  against 
David  Curtis,  and  now  feeling  herself  —  as  she 
was  —  very  much  in  the  public's  eye  for  many 
reasons,  this  last  cause  for  gossip  was  pain- 
ful to  her.  Another  reason  —  and  she  would 
not  admit  it  even  to  herself  —  was  that  it 
hurt  her  to  have  a  few  express  spiteful  and 
malicious  opinions  of  Martin.  He  was  nothing 
to  her,  of  course,  and  she  had  firmly  resolved  he 
should  not  be,  and  yet  deep  down  in  her  heart 
he  was  a  great  deal  to  her.  Only  as  a  would-be 
friend,  of  course,  or  one  about  whom  a  few  old- 
time  memories  still  lingered,  and  that  was  all. 

He  was  absent  now,  he  would  doubtless 
return  only  to  leave  Greenvale  for  good  again, 
when  he  found  his  quest  of  herself  met  no 
response,  and  yet  to  have  even  an  absent  friend 
who  was  known  to  be  her  suitor  denounced  as  a 
heretic,  a  scoffer,  and  almost  an  atheist,  by  the 
parson,  hurt  her  cruelly. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

AMZI    CURTIS 

AT  sight  of  the  hermit  Martin  quickly 
stepped  into  hiding  behind  the  tree,  motioning 
old  Cy  to  do  the  same.  This  strange  recluse 
was  not  a  dangerous  beast,  and  yet  so  momen- 
tous was  the  question  of  approaching  him,  and 
whether  or  not  he  would  admit  himself  to  be 
Amzi,  that  Martin  hesitated. 

"You  go  first,  Cy,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone 
after  thinking  a  moment,  "  and  I'll  keep  out 
of  sight.  Just  walk  up  to  him  naturally  and 
say,  '  Hullo,  Amzi,'  or  accost  him  as  you  were 
accustomed  to,  and  if  you  take  him  una- 
wares, the  chances  are  he  will  admit  that  he 
knows  you." 

It    was    with    nervous    dread    that    Martin 

watched  the  denouement  of  this  forest  drama. 

For  months  now  he  had  thought  of  but  little 

else   except  Angie,    and    proving   this    hermit 

290 


AMZI   CURTIS  291 

to  be  her  father,  and  thus  obtain  her  rights. 
Now  that  the  critical  moment  had  arrived  and 
the  mystery  was  to  be  solved  for  good  or 
never,  well  might  he  feel  nervous.  And  as 
he  watched  old  Cy  leisurely  approaching  the 
cabin,  he  was  almost  breathless  with  suspense. 
Step  by  step  old  Cy  drew  nearer,  now  to  the 
little  gateway  in  the  stake  fence,  now  up  the 
winding  path  among  the  stumps,  until  the  her- 
mit looked  up  and  old  Cy  halted. 

The  critical  moment  had  come.  Twenty 
years  had  been  bridged. 

For  a  minute  that  seemed  an  hour  the  two 
looked  at  each  other.  Then  the  hermit  rose, 
and  for  another  —  to  Martin  —  breathless  mo- 
ment faced  old  Cy,  motionless.  Martin  could 
see  him  quite  distinctly,  his  shrunken  features, 
white  beard,  all  awry,  scanty  hair,  long  arms 
hanging  listlessly,  gray  shirt  wide  open  at 
the  throat,  and  patched  trousers.  He  was 
like  a  pathetic  statue  of  old  age  gone  to  seed, 
and  outlined  against  a  log  cabin,  half  hid  be- 
neath scarlet  vines. 

Now  old  Cy  took  a  step  forward,  both  hands 
extended,  the  hermit  raised  his,  their  hands 


292  THE   HERMIT 

met,  then  up  and  down  again  and  again  in 
a  hearty  shake  of  old  friendship. 

The  suspense  was  over  and  the  long-missing 
Amzi  found. 

And  now  Martin,  keeping  out  of  sight,  re- 
turned to  his  camp  content  to  leave  the  two 
old  friends  by  themselves,  and  while  he  waited 
he  drew  from  a  small  hand-bag  a  flat  package 
and  opened  it.  It  contained  two  pictures  of 
Angie,  one  as  a  girl  of  sixteen  with  hair  in 
curls,  the  other  a  maturcr  face,  sweet,  yet 
dignified. 

"  Well,  little  girl,"  he  almost  whispered, 
glancing  from  one  face  to  the  other,  "  I've 
found  your  father,  but  God  only  knows  what 
we  can  do  with  him  or  how  it  will  affect 
you." 

For  a  long  time  he  looked  at  the  two 
faces  of  one  who  now  held  the  key  of  his 
life's  happiness,  and  then  folding  them  care- 
fully, put  the  package  in  an  inside  pocket 
and  glanced  around.  The  morning's  camp- 
fire  still  smouldered,  a  thin  film  of  smoke  rose 
from  it,  vanishing  in  the  overhanging  fir 
boughs  above.  The  open  tent  just  back  dis- 


AMZI   CURTIS  293 

closed  a  confusion  of  flattened  bough  beds, 
blankets,  boxes,  and  clothing.  Two  rifles  lay 
side  by  side  in  one  corner,  in  front  one  canoe 
half  out  of  water  on  the  sandy  shore,  while 
across  the  rippled,  sparkling  lake,  and  in  a 
cove,  rested  the  other  with  Levi  and  Jean  cast- 
ing for  trout,  —  a  collective  wilderness  picture 
which  he  never  forgot. 

For  a  half  hour  he  sat  in  the  mellow  autumn 
sunshine,  as  if  in  a  trance,  and  then  came  a 
rustling  in  the  undergrowth  and  old  Cy  ap- 
peared. 

"Well,"  said  Martin,  anxiously,  "is  he  sane 
and  all  right  ?  " 

"  Oh,  middlin'  so,"  answered  old  Cy,  his 
face  glowing  with  excitement ;  "  it's  Amzi  fast 
enough,  'n'  he  owns  it  up,  but  he  can't  make 
out  how  or  why  I'm  here,  an'  he  don't  'low 
he's  got  a  brother  Dave  'n'  a  grown  up  gal, 
Angie.  He's  sane  enough  so  fur  's  livin'  here, 
'n'  how  he  does  it,  'n'  all  about  the  garden  'n' 
squirrels,  but  jist  the  minnit  I  shift  back  to 
old  times,  he  either  gets  wary  or  don't  rec'lect 
He  thinks  I  come  here  'lone,  too,  'n'  when  I 
come  'way,  he  acted  worried  for  fear  I  wouldn't 


294  THE   HERMIT 

come '  back,  'n'  kept  beggin'  I  would.  It's  a 
curus  case,  'n'  I  can't  make  it  out.  He  acts 
like  a  man  woke  up  out  of  a  sleep." 

"  Had  I  best  call  on  him  now,"  asked  Martin, 
after  a  long  pause,  "  or  wait  until  to-morrow  ? 
He  isn't  likely  to  go  off  again,  is  he  ? " 

"  Wai,  I  dunno,"  answered  old  Cy,  cautiously, 
shaking  his  head,  "  I  dunno ;  we  can't  stop 
him  if  he  does,  I  s'pose,  an'  all  we  kin  do  is 
to  be  keerful  —  mighty  keerful.  My  idee  is  I 
best  go  back  to  him  bime  by  'n'  stay  a  spell 
longer,  'n'  mebbe  eat  with  him.  We've  got  to 
sorter  connect  him  with  us  by  his  feelin's,  I 
callate." 

"  I  might  go  off  with  the  guides  a  few 
days,"  rejoined  Martin,  after  considering  old 
Cy's  "  idee,"  "  and  give  you  a  chance  to  renew 
old  ties  again." 

"Wai,  mebbe,  though  you  might  come  round 
thar  arter  a  spell,  jist  ter  git  him  uster  seein' 
you  agin,  'n'  then  keep  shady." 

"  Would  it  be  best  to  show  him  Angie's  pic- 
tures now  or  wait  ?  "  queried  Martin,  anxiously. 
"I've  got  them  with  me." 

"  I'm  glad  on  it,"  answered  old  Cy,  eagerly ; 


AMZI  CURTIS  295 

"I'll  take  'em,  V  when  the  right  time  comes  '11 
use  'em  as  a  sorter  clincher." 

And  so  these  two,  sitting  beside  that  smoul- 
dering camp-fire,  discussed  the  difficult  problem 
of  how  to  bring  back  to  sane  thought  and  action 
a  mind  diseased  by  misanthropy  and  years  of 
solitude.  A  deer,  with  every  sense  keenly  alert, 
might  yet  be  stalked,  a  wary  trout  lured  from 
hiding,  but  here  was  a  problem  quite  new  and 
ten  times  harder  to  solve. 

One  false  step,  the  crackle  of  a  breaking  twig, 
the  motion  of  a  moving  body,  would  send  the 
deer  leaping  away  to  safety  ;  but  the  forest  held 
others,  and  what  matter.  It  held  but  one  her- 
mit, and  on  him  and  his  return  to  sanity  and 
action  lay  the  happiness  and  heritage  of  an 
orphaned  girl. 

"  I  am  going  to  let  you  manage  matters  en- 
tirely and  exactly  as  you  think  best,"  asserted 
Martin,  after  long  consideration ;  "  you  know 
him  best,  he  was  your  stanch  friend  once,  I 
brought  you  here  for  that  very  purpose,  and 
now  I'll  not  speak,  move,  or  show  myself  until 
you  say  the  word." 

But  the  question  of  Martin's  showing  himself 


296  THE   HERMIT 

to  the  hermit  settled  itself,  for  hardly  had  he 
ceased  speaking  when  footsteps  in  the  under- 
growth were  heard  and  the  hermit  emerged. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?"  was  Martin's  greeting, 
as  he  rose  and  extended  his  hand  cordially. 
"You  remember  me,  don't  you?" 

For  one  moment  the  strange  recluse  looked 
curiously  at  him,  then  to  old  Cy  and  back. 

"  I  remember  you,"  he  answered  pleasantly, 
grasping  the  proffered  hand;  "an' the  squirrels 
didn't  hurt  ye,  did  they  ?  I  tamed  'em." 

It  was  like  a  child's  answer,  and  it  flashed  on 
Martin  that  this  recluse  had  drifted  back  to  that 
mental  state. 

For  a  short  time  he  glanced  curiously  at  the 
camp  and  its  belongings,  smiling  in  a  vacant 
way  and  then  at  old  Cy.  "You're  going  to 
live  with  me  now,  Cyrus,  ain't  you  ?  "  he  asked 
plaintively.  "There  is  room  'nough,  and  you 
can  help  me  cut  wood." 

Martin  sighed  and  turned  away. 

He  had  been  in  suspense  so  long,  hoping  for 
the  best  and  dreading  the  worst ;  for  two  weeks 
his  fears  had  increased  daily,  and  now  to  find 
the  long-lost  Amzi,  the  father  of  the  girl  he 


AMZI   CURTIS  297 

loved,  a  mental  wreck  and  in  his  second  child- 
hood, was  pitiful. 

"  It  might  be  wuss,"  old  Cy  responded  to  his 
regrets  later,  after  the  hermit  had  left  them ; 
"  he's  childish  now  an'  sorter  wanderin',  but 
mebbe  his  mind  '11  come  back  arter  a  spell  by 
coaxin'.  I  callate  'most  any  on  us  ud  get  that 
way  livin'  all  stark  'lone  this  twenty  years." 

Old  Cy,  with  his  homely  speech,  kind  heart, 
and  "horse  sense,"  was  right,  and  Martin  knew 
it.  It  was  none  the  less  pitiful,  however,  and 
that  night  as  he,  left  alone. with  the  two  guides, 
sat  by  the  camp-fire  watching  its  glow  and  lis- 
tening to  the  low  wave  wash  of  the  lake,  his 
thoughts  flew  far  away  to  a  vine-hid  porch,  the 
rustling  of  falling  leaves,  and  a  fair  face  with 
bewitching  eyes.  All  that  last  evening  with 
Angie,  her  willing  efforts  to  entertain,  how  he 
stole  the  picture  while  she  sang,  and  her  cool 
parting  words  came  back.  He  had  lived  over  the 
old  boyish  illusion  months  ago  beside  this  same 
lakelet ;  it  had  led  him  back  to  Greenvale  and  to 
a  new  ambition  and  unrest  that  spoiled  his  peace 
of  mind.  And  now  back  again  in  this  vast  wil- 
derness, with  the  stars  twinkling  in  the  placid 


298  THE   HERMIT 

lake,  it  pursued  him  still  and  would  not  be  put 
away.  It  had  been  almost  four  weeks  now  since 
he  left  Greenvale,  the  leaves  were  turning,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  get  back  for  many  reasons  of 
his  own,  —  the  new  church  movement  which  he 
had  in  a  thoughtless  moment  offered  to  assist, 
the  coming  of  his  friend  as  its  pastor,  and  his 
own  hobby  of  trout  raising.  They  were  all  ties 
of  more  or  less  strength,  but  chief  of  all  was 
Angie. 

The  fire  had  burned  low  and  both  guides 
were  asleep  in  their  bark  shelter  when  old 
Cy  returned. 

"  I  think  ye  best  stay  'round  a  few  days," 
he  said,  "  'n'  then  go  'way  a  spell.  Amzi  is 
kinder  gettin'  fond  o'  havin'  me  round  helpin', 
'n'  arter  a  few  days  things  '11  come  back  to 
him,  mebbe.  I  doubt  we'll  git  him  back  to 
Greenvale,  though,  'thout  we  fetch  him  back; 
he's  that  wonted  here."  * 

It  was  not  a  reassuring  report. 

For  three  days  Martin  passed  the  time  as 
best  he  could.  He  killed  a  deer  and  sent 
half  up  to  the  hermit,  who  with  old  Cy  was 
hard  at  work  cutting  and  piling  a  winter's 


AMZI  CURTIS  299 

store  of  wood.  He  added  a  few  brace  of 
partridge  to  this  gift-offering  later  on,  called 
on  the  two  who  were  now  living  together, 
and  talked  as  best  he  could  with  Amzi,  and 
then,  at  the  close  of  one  day,  as  he  stood 
watching  Levi  and  Jean  busy  preparing  their 
evening  meal,  he  heard  a  canoe  grate  upon 
the  sandy  beach  close  by,  and,  looking  up, 
saw  the  two  officers  just  landing. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

UNWELCOME  VISITORS 

FOR  a  moment  Martin  stood  looking  at 
these  men  in  speechless  astonishment.  He 
had  fancied  them  far  away  on  their  murderer- 
hunting  cruise,  and  now  they  were  back  —  and 
for  what  purpose  ? 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  said  Martin, 
with  the  best  grace  he  could ;  and,  advancing  to 
meet  them,  "  have  you  found  your  man  yet  ? " 

"We  haven't,"  answered  the  leader  in  a 
curious  tone,  "but  we  think  we  shall  if  we 
stay  around  here  long  enough."  Then,  glanc- 
ing at  his  companion,  he  added,  "  Do  you  do 
most  of  your  canoeing  by  night  ? " 

"  I  do,"  responded  Martin,  laughing  slightly, 
and  not  at  all  abashed,  "if  I  want  to  make 
time  and  protect  an  innocent  man." 

"  I  presume  you  know,"  returned  the  officer, 
almost  insolently,  "that  warning  a  suspected 
300 


UNWELCOME  VISITORS  301 

criminal  or  aiding  him  to  escape  exposes  you 
to  arrest?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Martin,  firmly,  "and  also 
that  arresting  a  man  without  a  specific  warrant 
and  proof  that  he  is  the  criminal  wanted,  lays 
even  an  officer  open  to  arrest  and  prosecu- 
tion. Now  you  have  with  you,  no  doubt,  a 
warrant  for  the  arrest  of  one  McGuire,  a 
criminal  in  hiding.  I  gave  you,  some  three 
weeks  ago,  what  I  believed  to  be  directions 
where  you  could  find  him.  You  doubted  my 
word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman,  and  came  here. 
You  found  a  cabin  that  had  been  vacated  for 
many  weeks ;  you  remained  in  it  over  night, 
committing  two  crimes,  trespass  and  stealing, 
and  then  went  your  way.  The  owner  of  this 
cabin  is  an  old  friend  of  mine  whom  I  know 
well,  and  he  is  back  again  now.  You  can 
arrest  him,  of  course,  but  at  your  own  peril. 
If  you  do,  I  assure  you,  I  am  worth  and  will 
spend  ten  thousand  dollars  to  land  you  in 
jail  for  so  doing.  Now,  gentlemen,  we  won't 
waste  words  over  this  matter.  Please  consider 
yourselves  my  guests,  pitch  your  tent  here, 
and  let  us  be  sociable." 


302  THE   HERMIT 

For  a  moment  the  two  newcomers  looked 
at  one  another,  hardly  knowing  whether  to  be 
civil  or  not.  The  better  impulse  won  finally, 
and  when  Martin,  as  is  customary,  proffered 
a  flask,  they  drank  to  his  good  health. 

"We  do  not  wish  to  annoy  any  one,"  the 
leader  asserted,  when  peace  was  restored ;  "  my 
name's  Scott,  and  this  is  my  chum,  John  Smart. 
We  did  come  here,  and  of  course  made  free 
with  an  open  shack.  We  don't  doubt  your 
word  as  a  gentleman,  but  we  have  been  up  the 
Moosehorn  and  don't  find  signs  of  any  path 
or  hut  you  described,  and  that's  the  story 
and  why  we  are  here." 

"You  will  be  satisfied  in  two  minutes  that 
this  old  hermit  is  not  your  man,"  responded 
Martin,  pleasantly.  "  He  is  a  poor,  old  fellow, 
almost  a  child  now,  and  my  old  friend  you  saw 
with  me  was  his  intimate  friend  years  ago." 

After  the  two  officers  had  pitched  their  tent, 
cooked  and  eaten  supper  beside  Martin's  fire, 
they  all  gathered  around  it  and  he  told  the  old 
hermit's  story.  The  wild  man's  night  visit 
months  before  was  not  omitted,  and  the  hidden 
cabin,  with  its  bell  signal,  was  again  described. 


UNWELCOME  VISITORS  303 

The  two  officers  also  proved  to  be  decent  men 
on  acquaintance. 

"  I  should  not  have  taken  that  all-night  pad- 
dle," asserted  Martin,  when  his  story  ended, 
"if  you  had  not  doubted  my  word,  and  to-mor- 
row, if  I  find  it's  wise  to  leave  my  old  friend 
alone  here  with  the  hermit,  I'll  go  with  you  up 
the  Moosehorn  and  show  you  that  cabin.  It 
may  not  be  occupied  now,  but  it  was  then." 

When  morning  came,  Officer  Scott  proved 
himself  worthy  of  respect  by  accepting  Martin's 
word,  and  keeping  away  from  the  hermit. 

"  It  will  only  scare  him,"  explained  Martin, 
"  and  we  hope  to  get  him  out  of  the  woods  and 
back  to  Greenvale  and  his  daughter.  If  we  can't 
coax  him  to  go,  I  am  nonplussed,  and  we  may 
have  to  carry  him  out.  How  he  has  contrived 
to  live  here  winter  after  winter  is  a  mystery." 

The  new  plan  of  Martin's  going  away  met 
old  Cy's  approval. 

"  Amzi  and  me  is  gittin'  real  chummy  once 
more,"  he  said;  "we've  dug  his  pertatoes  'n' 
packed  'em  in  moss  under  the  cabin ;  we're 
cuttin'  an'  splittin'  wood,  'n'  smokin'  meat,  'n' 
gatherin'  nuts  for  the  squirrels  all  day  long. 


304  THE   HERMIT 

I  like  it,  and  wouldn't  mind  stayin'  with  him  all 
winter.  He's  got  a  couple  o'  bear  traps  set 
somewhar,  'n'  to-morrer  we're  goin'  ter  tend 
'em." 

It  was  a  pleasant  picture  of  wood  life,  but  it 
failed  to  relieve  Martin's  mind  much,  or  show 
him  a  way  to  secure  Angie's  inheritance.  It 
set  him  to  thinking,  however,  on  what  would 
be  gained  after  all  by  the  return  of  this  childish 
hermit  to  Greenvale,  and  would  Angie  be  made 
the  happier  by  it  ?  It  was  a  question,  and  one 
hard  to  solve.  So  far  as  the  law  went,  a  deed, 
and  all  necessary  legal  papers,  could  be  signed 
and  witnessed  here.  It  was  too  soon  to  propose 
that  now,  but  it  must  be  kept  in  mind. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  Jean  here  to  hunt  for 
you  and  Amzi  while  I'm  gone,"  Martin  said  to 
old  Cy,  when  ready  to  depart  with  the  officers ; 
"  he  can  get  you  one  or  two  deer  to  cure  for 
winter  use,  and  I  may  decide  to  let  you  stay 
here  after  all.  When  the  right  time  comes, 
show  Amzi  the  two  pictures  of  Angie  and  take 
good  care  of  him."  And  with  this  parting  in- 
junction he  and  "  Old  Faithful,"  as  he  had 
sometimes  called  Levi,  pushed  off. 


UNWELCOME  VISITORS  305 

A  canoe  trip  through  a  wilderness  is  at  once 
romantic,  laborious,  and  lazy.  The  waterways, 
of  course,  must  be  followed,  and  when  a  "  pitch 
of  water,"  as  a  rapid  or  falls  is  called,  is  reached, 
your  craft  and  belongings  must  be  carried 
around  if  ascending  the  stream.  If  descending 
and  not  too  dangerous,  a  thrilling,  and  often 
risky  trip  is  made  down  through  the  boiling, 
seething  waters  ;  leaping  perhaps  over  sheer 
falls  of  two  or  three  feet,  dodging  rocks,  tossed 
upon  white-crested  surges,  spun  around  in  ed- 
dies, wet  with  spray,  breathless  with  excitement, 
until  the  mad  race  is  run,  and  you  float  calmly 
at  last  in  the  foam-covered  pool  below. 

When  one  stream  can  no  longer  be  followed, 
a  long  carry  must  be  made  often  of  many  miles 
through  tangled  swamps  where  no  path  ever 
exists  except  tracks  in  the  mud  left  by  others, 
or  a  blazed  trail  over  a  ridge  that  only  an  ex- 
perienced woodman  can  follow.  When  night 
comes,  an  opening  in  the  undergrowth  along  the 
stream's  bank  must  be  cut  to  pitch  a  tent,  or  if 
fortunate,  an  old  tote-road  may  be  used.  For 
days  and  weeks  one  may  journey  along  these 
waterways,  meeting  all  manner  of  wild  animals 
x 


306  THE   HERMIT 

native  to  them,  but  no  sign  of  aught  human, 
except,  perhaps,  some  vacant  lumber  camp  lone 
and  ghostly  and  half  hid  behind  fresh  growth. 
And  so  peculiar  an  interest  attaches  to  these 
rude  structures,  deserted  for  years  and  left  to 
rot,  that  one  is  almost  forced  to  halt  and  ex- 
amine them.  They  are  all  alike  —  a  square 
log  cabin  thatched  with  saplings  and  now  rot- 
ting boughs,  with  the  door  and  window  staring 
wide  open  like  the  big  mouth  and  one  eye  of  an 
ogre,  a  pile  of  rusting  cans  and  debris  on  one 
side,  the  whitened  skulls  and  bones  of  moose 
and  deer  scattered  around  and  grinning  a 
ghastly  greeting  to  the  caller.  It  is  a  weird, 
lonely,  and  somewhat  grewsome  spot,  where 
man  once  lived  in  a  savage  manner,  and  as  you 
peer  around,  guessing  how  long  this  rude  home 
has  been  vacant,  you  instinctively  feel  that  a 
human  skull  may  greet  you  next,  or  a  spectre 
appear  from  behind  the  hut. 

The  same  mystery  and  invisible  presence 
haunts  your  own  temporary  home  each  night, 
and  every  wilderness  sound  becomes  magnified 
and  fraught  with  danger.  A  squirrel  leaping 
from  a  bough,  a  mink  or  otter  plunging  into 


UNWELCOME  VISITORS  307 

the  stream,  the  cry  of  a  loon  on  the  neighbor- 
ing lake,  all  have  an  ominous  significance. 

This  mysterious  forest  influence  was  familiar 
to  Martin,  but  now,  as  he  journeyed  onward, 
down-stream,  up-stream,  across  carry  with  the 
two  officers,  and  camping  where  night  overtook 
them,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  undertaken 
a  fool's  errand.  We  all  ought  to  have  an  in- 
terest in  the  cause  of  justice,  but  to  go  in  pur- 
suit of  an  intrenched  murderer  hiding  in  a  vast 
wilderness  was,  at  least,  not  to  his  liking.  He 
had,  on  the  spur  of  impulse,  and  to  prove  his 
own  assertions,  promised  to  do  this ;  but  when 
the  broad,  slow-running  Moosehorn  was  reached 
and  night  found  them  at  the  camp-site  where 
he  and  Dr.  Sol  were  visited  by  a  wild  man,  he 
wished  himself  back  with  old  Cy. 

The  spot  had  not  changed  in  the  months  that 
had  elapsed  except  that  the  North  Branch  was 
lower,  and  the  summer's  growth  had  sprung  up 
where  undergrowth  had  been  cut  away.  The 
old  tent  poles  still  remained  in  place,  the  same 
endless  procession  of  foam  flecks  came  down 
the  Branch,  and  the  same  low  murmur  of  run- 
ning water  issued  from  above. 


308  THE   HERMIT 

When  the  tents  were  up,  fires  started,  supper 
cooked  and  eaten,  a  council  of  war,  so  to  speak, 
was  held. 

"It  was  here,"  Martin  said  to  the  officers, 
"  that  a  friend  and  myself  first  discovered  that 
some  mysterious  human  being  or  wild  man  was 
haunting  this  wilderness,  and,  as  I  told  you,  he 
gave  us  a  good  scare.  Whether  he  was  this 
man,  McGuire,  whom  you  want,  I  can't  say. 
We  found  a  peculiar  secluded  cabin  late  the 
next  day,  and  if  we  make  an  early  start  to-mor- 
row, we  can  reach  it  before  night.  I  will  pilot 
you  to  it,  but  more  than  that  you  must  not  ex- 
pect. If  this  escaped  criminal  is  there,  you 
must  act  as  you  see  fit.  His  arrest  is  not  my 
affair,  and  I  don't  care  to  make  it  such.  I've 
no  doubt  if  it  is  your  man,  that  the  first  one  of 
us  to  approach  his  hut  will  be  called  to  a  halt, 
and,  failing  to  obey,  will  meet  a  bullet.  I've  de- 
scribed the  location  and  situation,  and  would  sug- 
gest that  you  now  decide  upon  a  plan  of  action. 
A  desperate  criminal  like  this  McGuire,  who 
has  kept  in  hiding  for  years,  won't  hesitate  to 
add  one  or  even  three  more  murders  to  his  list. 
Now  knowing  what  you  are  likely  to  meet,  what 
do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 


UNWELCOME  VISITORS-  309 

For  a  moment  the  two  officers  considered  the 
matter. 

"  We  are  here  to  arrest  this  chap,"  the  leader, 
Scott,  responded  firmly  at  last,  "and  shooting 
is  a  game  two  can  play  at." 

"  True  enough,"  answered  Martin,  laconically, 
"  but  with  one  shooter  secure  in  a  log  cabin, 
the  play  part  will  be  all  on  his  side.  I  shall 
not  mix  up  in  it,  as  I  said,  but  if  you  two  feel 
that  your  duty  calls  for  suicide  —  well,  I'm 
sorry  for  you.  I  should  hate  to  be  called  upon 
to  bury  you  under  a  flag  of  truce  in  that  clear- 
ing, and  as  for  conveying  you  out  of  the  wilder- 
ness if  wounded  —  well,  frankly,  I  can't  spare 
the  time." 

It  was  such  a  matter  of  fact  statement  of  the 
possible  outcome  that  both  officers  laughed. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  tolling  a  bell  until  a  corpse 
is  ready,"  said  Scott,  "and  I've  found  that  des- 
perate men  sometimes  wilt  easy.  We  will  wait 
and  see  how  the  land  lays  around  this  fellow's 
lair." 

And  that  night  Martin  felt  worse  than  the 
man  who  bought  a  white  elephant. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

THE   LAIR   OF   AN   OUTCAST 

IT  was  mid-afternoon,  and  an  impending 
storm  hid  the  sun  and  made  the  forest  unduly 
sombre  when  Levi  caught  the  first  sound  of 
the  stream  where,  months  before,  he  and 
Martin  had  landed  to  follow  a  mysterious 
path.  Its  beginning,  beside  the  bush-grown 
brook,  was  easily  found,  where  twigs  had  been 
broken  off  and  grass  recently  trodden. 

"  Here's  tracks,"  exclaimed  Levi,  who  had 
landed  first,  with  paddle  in  hand  ;  and,  stoop- 
ing, he  added,  "  They's  the  wild  man's,  sure's 
a  gun." 

"  It  is  he,  fast  enough,"  asserted  Martin, 
who  had  followed,  rifle  in  hand,  and  now  also 
stooped  over  them. 

They  were  plainly  visible,  and  a  group  of 
them  at  that.  Some  faint  on  the  patches  of 
moss,  and  those  close  to  the  stream  more  dis- 
310 


THE   LAIR   OF  AN   OUTCAST  311 

tinct  and  showing  the  well-remembered  claw 
marks.  For  full  five  minutes  the  little  party 
of  four  stood  looking  at  them  with  thrice  the 
interest  Martin  and  the  doctor  felt  once  be- 
fore. They  had  journeyed  a  hundred  miles 
to  find  a  desperado,  and  the  first  signs  of 
him  filled  them  with  forebodings. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  almost  whispered  Mar- 
tin, when  the  tracks  had  been  well  examined, 
"here  we  are,  and  your  game  isn't  far  off," 
and  he  led  the  way  into  the  shadowy  forest, 
up  the  narrow  path  only  a  few  rods,  and  then 
he  halted,  for  there,  beside  it,  and  nearly 
hid  under  freshly  cut  fir  boughs,  lay  a  canvas 
canoe,  bottom  up. 

It  was  the  one  inseparable  companion  of 
man  and  his  existence  in  this  wilderness ;  and 
yet,  had  it  been  a  crouching  panther  instead, 
it  would  not  have  awakened  much  more  inter- 
est. It  held  all  eyes  one  instant  only,  and 
then  the  row  of  four  stalwart  men  glanced 
furtively  around  as  if  expecting  a  savage  to 
step  out  from  behind  each  tree.  Only  a 
moment  they  halted,  and  then  with  rifles  at 
ready,  and  Martin  ahead,  they  filed  cautiously 


312  THE   HERMIT 

up  the  narrow  path,  step  by  step,  twisting 
around  the  dense  thicket,  along  the  frowning 
ledge,  and  up  the  defile  to  where  the  moose 
skull  still  grinned,  and  here  they  paused. 
Martin  made  no  comment,  but  glanced  at  the 
officers,  anxious  to  see  how  this  ghastly  warn- 
ing was  received  by  them.  They  looked  at 
it  in  grim  silence,  then  at  one  another,  and 
then  up  the  narrow,  rock-walled  path. 

Once  more  Martin,  as  leader,  moved  on, 
and  the  rest  followed. 

Not  a  whisper  from  any,  not  a  loud  breath 
even,  each  step  a  slow  one  and  catlike,  and, 
parting  the  bushes  with  caution  until  the  open 
glade  came  in  sight,  and  just  where  the  swing- 
ing stick  crossed  the  path,  they  halted. 

From  here  the  log  hut  was  visible,  and  out 
of  its  low  chimney  a  thin  film  of  smoke  was 
ascending. 

Martin  looked  at  it  a  moment  and  then  at 
his  companions. 

"  There's  your  man,  I  guess,"  he  whispered, 
"  cooking  supper.  Do  you  want  to  call  on 
him  without  notice,  or  shall  I  ring  ?  " 

It  was  the  critical  moment,  and  one  Officer 


THE   LAIR  OF  AN   OUTCAST  313 

Scott  was  not  ready  to  meet.  He  and  his 
companion  had  for  weeks  been  searching  this 
pathless  wilderness  for  a  man  whose  crimes 
they  knew  well  enough,  but  of  his  temper, 
disposition,  looks  even,  they  knew  but  little. 
If  the  occupant  of  this  cabin  was  McGuire, 
he  was  in  a  position  to  defy  arrest  or  at  least 
make  it  costly. 

"Well,"  whispered  Martin  again,  realizing 
their  dilemma,  "  shall  I  ring  ?  " 

Scott  nodded. 

Then  as  all  eyes  were  on  this  lair  of  a  sup- 
posed murderer,  Martin  pushed  the  swinging 
stick  forward  once,  twice,  thrice! 

On  the  instant,  almost,  and  as  the  faint, 
tinkling  answers  reached  the  watching  men, 
a  shaggy-haired  human  face  appeared  at  the 
one  small  window,  then  a  slide  was  moved 
across  it,  leaving  a  narrow  crack  open. 

The  cabin's  owner  was  evidently  at  home. 

But  it  needed  a  brave  man,  indeed,  to  now 
enter  this  open  glade,  bristling  with  blackened 
stumps  like  so  many  fangs,  and  advance  to 
th-3  hut.  Scott  was  evidently  not  that  man, 
for  he  merely  watched  and  waited,  and  Mar- 


314  THE   HERMIT 

tin  felt  no  cause  to  expose  himself.  One, 
two,  three  minutes  passed,  and  the  four  still 
eyed  the  cabin. 

And  now  Scott  advanced  to  the  signal  lever 
and  moved  it  again  and  again. 

Only  the  faint  bell  sounds  issued. 

It  was  seemingly  a  case  of  either  advance 
or  retreat,  but  Scott  did  neither.  Only  a 
moment  more  he  waited,  then  gave  a  loud 
"  hallo." 

It  echoed  through  that  silent  wilderness  and 
back  from  the  cliff  that  frowned  down  upon 
the  hut,  but  no  one  appeared.  Again  and 
again  was  it  repeated,  but  the  cabin  door  re- 
mained shut,  the  window  slide  in  place,  and 
the  smoke  still  ascending. 

"  I've  a  notion  to  try  a  shot,"  whispered 
Scott,  and,  as  no  one  answered,  he  raised  his 
rifle,  aimed  at  the  cliff,  and  fired. 

The  ping  of  the  bullet  against  the  rock 
came  back  mingling  into  the  report,  but  no 
one  emerged  from  the  hut. 

Once  again  Scott  lifted  his  rifle  and  fired. 

This  time  he  was  answered,  for  now  a  gun 
barrel  was  thrust  out  of  the  narrow  slit,  then 


THE   LAIR   OF  AN  OUTCAST  315 

a  spit  of  red  fire,  and  a  bullet  cut  its  way 
through  the  fir  boughs  above  the  watchers. 

In  an  instant  all  four  were  prone  upon  the 
earth. 

It  was  almost  ludicrous,  and  yet  the  bravest 
of  men  would  do  the  same. 

"  He's  your  man,"  whispered  Martin,  almost 
inclined  to  laugh,  "  but  if  you  mean  to  arrest 
him,  I'll  stay  here.  I've  no  desire  to  head 
a  funeral  procession  just  yet." 

But  the  face  of  Scott  had  grown  fierce. 
"  I'm  a  good  mind  to  open  fire  on  the 
shack,"  he  said,  "and  see  if  that  will  start 
him  out." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  answered  Martin,  "  you  may 
kill  the  wrong  man  after  all,  and  if  I  was 
that  cabin's  owner,  and  some  one  fired  close 
as  you  did>  I'd  answer  in  coin.  Bullets  are 
arguments  that  merit  the  same  answer.  Your 
only  show  was  to  leave  your  gun  behind,  and 
call  as  a  peaceful  stranger  might.  You  have 
closed  the  door  to  that,  and  it's  now  riddle 
that  cabin  with  balls  or  retreat." 

"  I've  a  good  will  to  send  a  few  bullets 
through  his  roof,"  asserted  Scott,  angry  at 


316  THE   HERMIT 

being  thus  baffled.  "  I'm  not  the  man  to 
turn  tail  so  easy." 

It  was  bravado  pure  and  simple,  and  Martin 
saw  it. 

"  All  right,"  he  answered  cheerfully,  "  only 
just  wait  till  I  get  behind  a  rock.  As  I  told 
you,  it's  not  my  business,  and  I  don't  mean  it 
shall  be.  I've  led  you  to  your  victim's  lair  as 
I  promised,  but  I'm  going  back  with  a  whole 
skin  and  soon,  too." 

Then  somewhat  crestfallen  and  yet  helpless 
to  do  anything  else  except  retreat,  Scott  led 
the  way  back  to  the  canoes.  And  it  must  be 
noted  that  the  time  consumed  in  so  doing 
was  of  the  briefest. 

The  four  camped  together  that  night  as 
indeed  they  had  to,  and  when  they  parted 
ways  next  day,  Martin  felt  no  regret. 

"That  man  Scott's  'bout  like  most  o'  the 
game  wardens,"  asserted  Levi,  contemptu- 
ously, when  alone  with  Martin,  "and  a  cross 
'twixt  a  loafer  'n'  a  bluffer.  All  he  wanted 
was  to  earn  the  prize  money,  'n'  hadn't  either 
sense  or  sand  enough  to  do  it.  I've  a  mighty 
poor  'pinion  o'  most  o'  the  game  wardens," 


THE   LAIR   OF  AN   OUTCAST  317 

he  continued,  giving  an  extra  push  to  his 
paddle  stroke,  "they're  hired  to  keep  laws 
from  bein'  broken,  V  they  fish  'n'  shoot  out 
o'  season  all  the  time. 

"  Then  he's  a  braggart,"  he  added  after  a 
pause,  "  'n'  that  don't  count.  Braggin's  a 
good  deal  like  a  feller  tryin'  to  lift  himself  by 
his  boot  straps.  He  don't  git  up  any  further 
'n'  looks  ridic'lus." 

But  Levi,  like  most  of  the  guides,  bore  ill- 
will  toward  all  game  wardens. 

And  now,  as  these  two  will  not  again  enter 
this  narrative,  it  must  be  recorded  that  not 
until  years  after  did  Martin  find  out  who 
really  occupied  this  inhospitable  cabin  on  the 
Moosehorn,  or  what  the  ultimate  fate  of 
McGuire  was. 

For  four  days  Martin  and  Levi  journeyed 
onward  in  content  together,  as  they  had  for 
many  times  before,  and  when  at  last  the  her- 
mit's little  lake  was  reached  just  at  twilight, 
Jean's  camp-fire  gleaming  on  its  shore  was  a 
welcome  sight. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

HOME    BUILDING   IN   THE    WILDERNESS 

WHEN  Martin,  aided  by  his  guides,  had 
made  their  own  camp  ready  for  the  night  and 
supper  was  disposed  of,  he  started  for  the 
hermit's  hut.  He  had  learned  from  Jean  that 
all  was  well  with  Amzi  and  old  Cy,  and  now 
a  call  on  them  was  in  order. 

The  October  new  moon  was  bright  in  the 
western  sky,  the  evening  air  cool  and  crisp, 
the  leaves  falling  from  the  birches  rustled 
beneath  his  feet,  and  as  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  hut,  a  cheery  light  gleamed  from  its  one 
small  window.  He  halted  a  moment  at  the 
gate,  for  out  from  this  rude  home  came  the 
sound  of  music  once  more.  It  was  not  a  sad 
refrain  now,  but  that  cheerful  old-time  dance 
tune,  "The  Irish  Washerwoman,"  and  as 
Martin  paused  to  listen  a  moment,  it  carried 
him  back  to  his  boyhood  when  he  had  cut 
318 


HOME   BUILDING   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     319 

pigeon  wings  to  its  lively  measures,  and  then 
clasped  Angie's  supple  waist  when  "  Balance 
and  swing "  echoed  from  the  bare  brown 
rafters. 

And  now  five  hundred  miles  away  from 
those  old  associations,  he  was  listening  to  it 
once  again,  twanged  by  her  father  on  a  jews'- 
harp ! 

It  bore  the  same  joyous  mood  as  of  yore, 
and,  more  than  that,  assured  him  that  this 
strange  recluse  and  old  Cy  were  now  quite 
content  and  happy.  And  why  shouldn't  they 
be  and  continue  thus  here  ?  And  what  was 
to  be  gained  by  insisting  upon  changing  con- 
ditions and  almost  dragging  this  poor  old  man 
back  to  Greenvale  and  to  surroundings  long 
since  forgotten  ?  It  was  but  the  same  conclu- 
sion that  had  first  come  to  him  when  he  left 
here  with  the  officers,  now  returning  with  con- 
vincing force.  And  what  harm  could  follow? 
Amzi  was  content  —  the  ties  of  his  manhood 
were  severed,  earlier  feelings  dead  and  buried, 
he  and  old  Cy,  two  fossils  as  it  were,  were 
happy  together  and  could  be  of  mutual  help 
and  comfort.  They  were,  or  could  be  properly 


320  THE   HERMIT 

provided  for  during  winter ;  old  Cy,  absolutely 
without  ties  in  Greenvale,  would  be  glad  to 
remain  here,  and  why  not? 

Then  another  and  the  vital  object  of  his  com- 
ing here  occurred  to  Martin  —  Angie's  rights. 
He  had  consulted  a  legal  friend  and  found  that 
if  her  father  was  still  alive,  David  could  be  made 
to  pay  over  to  him  or  his  child  one-half  the  in- 
come of  the  property  since  he  left.  The  prop- 
erty could  not  be  sold  anyway  without  Amzi's 
signature,  and  beyond  that,  Martin  held  a  claim 
on  it  as  well.  More  than  this,  Amzi  would 
doubtless  sign  any  necessary  papers,  and  here 
were  four  good  and  reliable  witnesses. 

All  this  came  to  Martin  as  he  stood  watching 
the  one  little  window  light  and  listening  to  that 
old-time  dance  music. 

And  now  he  advanced  cautiously  and  peeped 
in  at  the  window. 

A  fire  burned  in  the  small  stove,  a  queer  tin 
lamp,  a  sort  of  can  with  a  handle,  was  alight  on 
the  table,  old  Cy  with  a  pipe  sat  on  a  stool,  and 
the  hermit,  squat  on  his  bunk,  was  still  twang- 
ing his  jews'-harp.  A  curious  picture  of  back- 
woods enjoyment,  unique,  yet  pathetic. 


HOME   BUILDING   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     321 

For  a  moment  only  Martin  glanced  in,  then 
knocked  on  the  door.  A  "  come  in,"  followed, 
and  then  he  entered.  There  was  no  ceremony ; 
old  Cy  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him  cor- 
dially, but  the  hermit  remained  on  his  bunk 
smiling. 

"Well,  I'm  back,"  asserted  Martin,  "and 
how  are  you,  boys  ?  I  see  you  are  taking 
comfort." 

"  Oh,  we're  gittin'  on  famous,"  responded 
old  Cy.  "Ain't  we,  Amzi?" 

Amzi  nodded,  still  smiling.  "  We've  bin 
choppin'  wood,"  he  said,  "  'n'  Cyrus  sharpened 
the  axe  on  a  stun,  'n'  built  a  smoke  house,  'n' 
we've  got  a  lot  o'  nuts  fer  the  squirrels." 

"  Back  to  childhood  and  for  good,"  thought 
Martin  ;  then  aloud,  "  That's  right,  boys  ;  now  is 
the  time  to  get  ready  for  winter.  How  are  the 
squirrels  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they're  asleep  now,"  answered  Amzi, 
eagerly,  "  I'll  feed  'em  in  the  mornin'." 

"Still  the  child,"  thought  Martin,  "and  no 
thought  beyond  his  daily  life  here,  not  even 
curiosity."  For  a  little  time  he  chatted,  first 
with  one  and  then  the  other,  and  then  inviting 


322  THE   HERMIT 

old  Cy  to  come  to  his  camp  early  next  day, 
bade  them  good  night. 

Jean  was  asleep  when  Martin  reached  camp, 
but  "  Old  Faithful  "  —  Levi  —  still  awaited  him 
beside  the  fire.  For  a  half  hour  or  more  Mar- 
tin sat  near  it,  maturing  his  plans. 

"  Levi,"  he  asked  at  last,  "  how  far  is  it  to 
the  nearest  settlement  ? " 

"'Bout  three  days'  goin",  V  mebbe  five  git- 
tin'  back,"  came  the  answer,  after  a  pause. 

"Well,"  continued  Martin,  with  a  laugh,  "I 
thought  of  about  everything  when  we  came  in 
but  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  and  those  I  must  have 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"Well,  I'll  go  fetch  'em,"  responded  Levi, 
with  ready  willingness ;  "  I  kin  go  down  the 
Allagash  to  Connors  'n'  back  in  a  week, 
mebbe,  if  you  kin  spare  Jean." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Martin,  ashamed  of 
his  own  thoughtlessness  ;  "  I  intended  him  to 
go  with  you." 

Then,  as  he  thought  of  the  long  trip  these 
two  must  make,  so  easy  going,  but  a  steady 
up-current  journey  coming  back ;  he  realized 
how  costly  a  lapse  of  memory  might  be.  He 


HOME   BUILDING   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     323 

had  prepared  himself  with  legal  advice,  thought 
of  and  brought  into  the  woods  all  manner  of 
extra  clothing,  stores,  and  even  medicine  this 
old  hermit  might  need  if  he  refused  to  leave 
his  hut;  yet  now  he  was  helpless,  without  the 
simplest  accessories  of  civilized  life. 

Then  another  thought  came,  and  when  morn- 
ing dawned,  he  peeled  strips  of  thin  birch  bark 
from  an  adjacent  tree,  and  with  a  charred  twig 
scrawled  a  brief  letter  to  Angie.  And  of  all  the 
love-letters  ever  received  by  waiting  maid,  none 
were  more  unique. 

"You  must  enclose  this  in  an  envelope,"  he 
said  to  Levi,  when  they  were  ready  to  start, 
"  and  rewrite  the  address  on  it."  And  taking 
the  flat  package,  now  tied  with  fish-line,  Old 
Faithful  pushed  off  and  started  on  his  hun- 
dred-mile journey  for  a  quarter's  worth  of 
stationery. 

When  old  Cy  presented  himself  a  little 
later,  the  two  held  an  important  conversation. 

"  I've  given  up  the  idea  of  taking  Amzi 
back  to  Greenvale,"  Martin  said  at  once, 
"  and  if  you  are  willing,  I'd  like  you  to  stay 
here  for  the  winter  and  take  care  of  him. 


324  THE   HERMIT 

I've  sent  Levi  and  Jean  to  the  nearest  settle- 
ment for  writing  materials,  and  while  they  are 
gone  we  will  make  Amzi's  hut  more  comfortable, 
and  if  you  want  Jean  to  stay  here  with  you, 
we  will  build  an  addition  to  it." 

"  That's  my  idee,  exactly,"  exclaimed  old 
Cy,  with  delight,  "thar  ain't  nobody  as  wants 
me  'round  in  Greenvale,  'cept  my  dog,  an' 
Amzi  does,  'n'  that's  'bout  all  thar  is  to  livin' 
arter  all.  I  wish  I  had  Bose  here,  though," 
he  added,  after  a  pause ;  "  Bose  '11  miss  me." 

"  I'll  come  up  in  the  spring,"  responded 
Martin,  also  delighted  at  this  easy  solution  of 
a  vexing  question,  "  and  perhaps  bring  Bose. 
In  the  meantime  I'll  take  good  care  of  him. 
I've  also  sent  for  meal,  flour,  salt,  coffee,  and  a 
lot  of  other  stores  for  you  boys.  I'll  shoot  you 
a  deer  or  two  while  they  are  gone,  and  you 
can  take  a  lot  of  comfort  here  this  winter. 
I  wouldn't  mind  staying  here  myself.  There 
is  game  a-plenty,  and  when  a  warm  day  comes, 
you  can  catch  a  few  trout  through  the  ice." 
Then,  as  another  matter  presented  itself,  he 
added,  "  Did  you  show  Angle's  picture  to 
Amzi,  and  what  did  he  say  ? " 


HOME   BUILDING   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     325 

"  I  did,"  answered  old  Cy,  with  a  shade  of 
disappointment,  "  'n'  it's  cnrus  how  a  man  kin 
so  forgit  his  own  child.  I  said,  '  Do  you 
know  who  them  picturs  is,'  'n'  he  shook  his 
head.  '  It's  Angeline,  yer  little  gal  growed 
up,'  I  said,  but  he  kept  lookin'  'n'  said  nothin'. 
Then  arter  a  spell  he  handed  'em  back. 
'Angeline's  a  little  gal,'  he  said,  'an'  not  like 
them  picturs.'  I  put  'em  away,  kinder  hurt, 
'n'  it  was  two  hours  'fore  he  said  another 
word.  Then  he  come  up  to  me  looking  sober 
like,  '  Cyrus,'  he  says,  '  was  them  picturs 
Angeline  ? '  I  told  him  they  was,  surer  'n  a 
gun,  'n'  showed  'em  agin.  He  looked  at  'em 
a  long  spell  'n'  then  sot  down  'n'  cried  like  a 
baby.  I  callate  the  old  times  is  all  comin' 
back  piecemeal." 

"  Have  you  mentioned  David  to  him  yet  ? " 
"  No,  I  dassent,"  answered  old  Cy,  shaking 
his  head,  "  I  dassent,  not  yit.  He  acted  so 
curus  arter  that  cryin'  spell,  sorter  dazed  all 
day,  I  dunno  as  it's  best.  If  he's  goin'  ter 
stay  here  'n'  I  with  him,  we'd  best  not  meddle 
too  much  with  his  memory.  He.  might  go 
clean  daft.  He's  all  right  's  fur  as  things 


326  THE   HERMIT 

here  go ;  but  thar's  a  gap  'twixt  now  an'  the 
old  days,  an'  we  best  not  try  to  bridge  it.  If 
he  once  sot  eyes  on  Angie  or  David,  it  ud  all 
come  back,  'n'  mebbe  drive  him  crazy  's  a  loon." 

And  Martin,  trying  to  imagine  how  it  would 
affect  him  to  thus  live  in  almost  utter  solitude 
for  a  score  of  years,  realized  that  old  Cy  was 
right,  and  that  this  poor  hermit's  reason  was 
almost  gone.  It  was  worse  than  pitiful,  and 
yet  it  was  a  fact.  And  then  he  fell  to  think- 
ing of  his  own  duty,  and  how  he  must  break 
the  news  to  Angie  and  how  she  would  receive 
it.  He  had  dreaded  this  expedition  for  many 
reasons,  and  yet  it  had  to  be  taken.  In  one 
way  he  could  return  with  good  news  —  her 
father  was  alive  and  content,  if  childish  — 
that  was  some  consolation.  Old  Cy's  cheerful 
companionship  might  work  wonders,  and  so 
Martin  tried  to  find  hope. 

As  for  the  business  part  of  his  mission,  it 
seemed  a  trifle.  Amzi  could  and  doubtless 
would  sign  any  necessary  legal  papers  — 
Martin  had  them  all  in  mind  —  a  brief 
will  in  Angie's  favor,  Dr.  Sol  as  conservator 
and  administrator,  with  power  of  attorney,  all 


HOME   BUILDING   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     327 

duly  witnessed,  and  for  the  rest  and  any  action 
upon  these  Angie  herself  must  decide. 

"  I  am  going  to  let  you  manage  this  matter, 
as  I  told  you  before,"  he  said  to  old  Cy, 
after  explaining  this  part  of  his  mission. 
"  You  have  been  with  him  a  week  now ;  he 
trusts  you  like  a  child,  and  in  your  own  way 
you  can  get  him  to  sign  the  documents  I 
want.  I  think  now,"  he  added,  rising,  "  I'll 
play  boy  with  you  two  for  a  week  and  build 
an  ell  on  the  cabin  for  Jean." 

How  that  week  of  "  playing  boy  "  was  passed 
—  how  Martin  stalked  and  killed  the  deer  he 
needed,  and  dozens  of  partridges  and  ducks 
besides,  how  the  cabin's  addition  was  erected 
and  other  improvements  made,  and  how  much 
Martin  enjoyed  this  Good  Samaritan  labor — need 
not  be  specified.  Amzi  also  seemed  to  grow 
fond  of  his  cheerful  voice,  and  obeyed  him  like 
the  child  he  was. 

There  was  also  some  pleasure  mingled  in,  for 
the  hermit,  stimulated  by  the  excitement  of  more 
company,  seemed  to  grow  more  sane  and  like  a 
mature  man  in  thought,  and  told  stories  of  his  long 
journeys  through  the  wilderness  and  meetings 


328  THE   HERMIT 

with  bear  and  wildcat ;  how  he  had  at  various 
times  ventured  down  to  a  settlement,  and  how 
curious  people  had  been ;  and,  in  short,  he  related 
bits  of  his  history  without  connection. 

There  was  some  sport  to  diversify  the  work 
and  care,  for  he  led  Martin  and  old  Cy  far  into 
the  wilderness  where  he  had  traps  set,  showed 
them  spring  holes  in  the  lake  that  seemed  alive 
with  trout,  and  when  evening  came,  he  was  as 
pleased  as  a  child  and  as  ready  to  produce  his 
jews'-harp.  He  rapidly  lost  much  of  his  misan- 
thropic and  surly  demeanor  under  the  influence 
of  companionship,  acted  and  talked  as  if  he 
had  known  those  about  him  for  many  years, 
and  grew  fond  of  them. 

It  all  added  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  Martin's 
labors,  and  when  Levi  returned  with  the  coveted 
paper  and  canoe  well  loaded  with  stores,  the 
hut  was  doubled  in  size,  its  walls  enclosed  in  a 
foot-thick  casing  of  fir  boughs  and  moss  com- 
bined, a  roof  of  poles  was  erected  over  the  door, 
the  roofs  of  both  cabins  doubly  thatched,  two 
more  bunks  well  filled  with  dry  moss  and  leaves 
were  made  ready,  and  all  possible  security  against 
a  long,  cold  winter  provided. 


HOME   BUILDING   IN  THE   WILDERNESS     329 

The  legal  documents  were,  as  Martin  ex- 
pected, obtained  with  ease,  money  was  given 
old  Cy  to  pay  Jean  for  six  months'  service,  and 
with  it  ample  directions  for  the  hermit's  care. 
Everything  that  Martin  could  think  of  he  had 
attended  to,  and  none  too  soon,  for  November 
had  come,  the  wild  geese  were  moving  south- 
ward, the  hardwood  trees  were  bare  of  leaves, 
and  ice  formed  in  secluded  coves  around  the 
lake  each  night.  A  two-himdred-mile  canoe 
journey  still  separated  him  from  civilization,  and 
it  was  high  time  that  he  departed. 

"  I  shall  miss  you  going  out,"  he  observed  to 
old  Cy,  when  ready  to  start,  "  but  it's  go  now,  or 
get  frozen  in.  You  and  Amzi  are  well  provided 
for,  however,  and  I'll  be  back  in  the  spring." 

"I'll  miss  ye  the  most,"  replied  old  Cy,  wist- 
fully, "  an'  I  can't  thank  ye  fer  all  ye've  done 
fer  me.  All  I  kin  say  is  take  good  keer  o'  yer- 
self,  an'  fetch  Angie  back  with  ye  when  ye 
come." 

And  all  the  long  days,  ever  pushing  on,  up- 
stream, down  stream,  across  lake  and  carry, 
and  each  night  beside  a  camp-fire,  that  hope  was 
a  consolation  to  Martin. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
HALLOWE'EN 

DAVID  CURTIS  never  recovered  from  the  awful 
shock  occasioned  by  that  midsummer  night  spec- 
tre, stalking  out  from  behind  the  mill.  What  it 
was  he  never  learned,  for  Nezer  kept  his  secret 
well,  old  Cy  and  Martin  had  never  lisped  their 
suspicions,  and  the  spook  of  Scar  Face  remained 
a  mystery  in  Greenvale. 

Its  effect  on  the  ghost-tainted  mind  of  David, 
combined  with  the  gnawing  of  conscience,  the 
daily  fear  that  legal  proceedings  would  be  taken 
against  him,  and  nightly  dread  of  another  spec- 
tral visitation,  became  more  and  more  apparent. 
He  had  —  thanks  to  Aunt  Comfort's  nursing  — 
recovered  from  the  first  shock  and  brain  fever. 
Aunt  Lorey  and  the  wife  of  one  of  his  workmen 
now  kept  house  for  him,  for  he  was  willing  to 
pay  any  price  for  company,  but  for  all  that  he 
failed  rapidly.  Old  age  was  also  against  him. 
33° 


HALLOWE'EN  331 

He  could  not  eat  or  sleep,  and  long  hours  of  each 
night  were  passed  in  nervous  dread  of  something. 
The  grist-mill  was  closed  and  had  remained  so 
since  that  fatal  night,  for  every  one  considered  it 
haunted ;  but  the  force  of  long  habit  kept  David 
pottering  about  the  sawmill  each  day,  and  would 
as  long  as  sufficient  strength  lasted. 

Nezer  also  renewed  his  persecutions  after 
recovering  from  the  fright  occasioned  by  his 
ghostly  Indian  masquerade,  and  though  inter- 
mittent, they  aided  in  the  merciless  retribution 
now  pursuing  David.  These  acts  were  all  pecu- 
liar and  mysterious,  and  quite  like  Nezer.  With 
a  strain  of  Indian  blood  in  him,  perhaps,  he  had 
never  forgotten  or  forgiven  that  moment  of 
agony  when  he  leaped  into  a  network  of  barbed 
wire,  and,  with  diabolical  cunning,  meant  to 
obtain  ample  revenge.  Once  or  twice  a  week 
he  visited  David's  premises  by  night  and  added 
one  more  mite  to  it.  Tools  were  again  taken 
from  the  sawmill  and  thrown  into  the  flume  or 
transferred  to  the  unused  grist-mill.  Pieces  of 
belts,  bags,  measures,  and  other  fittings  from 
there  were  hung  on  trees  about  the  house.  On 
two  occasions  the  grist-mill  gate  was  raised  and 


332  THE   HERMIT 

millstones  set  rumbling,  to  continue  until  morn- 
ing, while  David  listened  with  fearsome  dread, 
and  then,  to  crown  all,  Nezer  rigged  a  tick-tack 
over  the  house.  He  used  a  long  fish-line  for 
that,  one  end  secured  to  a  bush  back  of  the 
house,  with  a  lead  sinker  tied  on  at  suitable 
location,  another  larger  one  fastened  to  the  other 
end  of  the  line,  enabling  Nezer  to  throw  it  over 
the  house  and  secure  it  again,  hide  himself  be- 
hind a  fence,  and  dangle  the  mid-line  plummet 
against  the  roof. 

What  the  effect  of  such  a  regular  tick-tack 
sound  heard  by  one  in  David's  state  of  mind 
at  the  midnight  hour  would  be,  can  hardly  be 
imagined.  For  the  first  two  or  three  times  he 
aroused  and  sent  his  hired  man  out  with  a 
lantern,  but  naturally  that  availed  not  except 
to  stimulate  Nezer  to  a  longer  enjoyment  of 
his  trick  when  the  foolish  search  ended.  Time 
and  again  did  Nezer  perpetrate  this  weird  trick, 
always  on  dark  nights,  and  after  an  hour  of 
fun,  secure  his  rigging  for  use  again  and  sneak 
away.  He  was  like  an  Indian  in  his  methods, 
selecting  nights  just  right  and  not  too  dark, 
stealing  on  to  David's  premises  behind  bush- 


HALLOWE'EN  333 

choked  fences  and  keeping  out  of  possible 
sight,  listening  with  keen  ears  and  eyes  until 
sure  no  one  was  watching,  and  making  his 
visits  with  foxlike  cunning. 

David  Curtis  had  lived  his  life  of  miserly 
pinching  and  sharp  scheming,  forgetting  every 
law  of  justice  and  honor  in  his  grasping  greed, 
had  come  to  be  despised  by  even  his  fellow 
church-members  and  hated  by  many  others, 
and  now,  pursued  by  an  uncanny  fear,  growing 
weaker  day  by  day,  was  fast  nearing  insanity. 
What  it  was  that  haunted  his  premises  he 
knew  not.  He  crept  to  his  work,  a  physical 
and  mental  wreck,  dared  not  go  into  his  own 
cellar  or  the  dark  basement  of  his  mill,  even 
in  the  day-time,  and  required  his  hired  man 
to  sleep  in  his  room  at  night. 

When  the  last  of  October  and  Hallowe'en 
came,  he  was  little  better  than  a  doddering 
idiot  from  fear,  and,  sitting  in  his  mill  all  day, 
watched  his  man  at  work,  too  weak  to  aid  him. 

And  now  came  the  climax  of  his  punish- 
ment. 

Hallowe'en  had  always  been  observed  by 
the  young  folks  of  Greenvale  with  the  usual 


334  THE   HERMIT 

and  time-honored  ceremonies.  Several  parties 
were  usually  held,  where  apples,  floating 
in  tubs  of  water  and  secured  if  possible 
with  teeth  and  lips  of  maid  or  swain,  formed 
one  amusement.  If  one  was  thus  fished  for 
and  obtained,  it  was  carefully  pared  by  its 
proud  owner,  and  its  perfect  peel,  twirled  three 
times  around  the  head  and  dropped,  must  in- 
evitably form  the  first  initial  of  his  or  her  future 
mate.  Kissing  games  to  accelerate  these  results 
usually  followed,  and  later  the  parties  broke  up 
for  other  and  more  ghostly  amusements. 

Small  boys  carried  jack-o'-lanterns  through 
the  village,  or  held  them  in  front  of  windows ; 
older  couples  or  small  parties  made  a  late  tour, 
hanging  cabbages  or  paper  bags  containing 
onions  or  potatoes  on  door-knobs,  and  then, 
clanging  the  iron  knockers,  scampered  away. 
Now  and  then  some  bolder  lad,  wrapped  in  a 
sheet,  stalked  through  the  quiet  streets  that 
night,  and  all  manner  of  spookish  pranks  were 
indulged  in.  Nezer,  as  might  be  expected, 
had  always  been  an  active  participant  in  these 
observances,  and  now,  when  the  famous  night 
drew  near,  he  resolved  to  outdo  himself.  He 


HALLOWE'EN  335 

had  kept  his  "  Scar  Face "  disguise  in  safe 
hiding,  and  had  in  some  way  obtained  a  bit  of 
phosphorus  to  rub  on  the  mask  around  eyes 
and  mouth.  His  plan,  well  matured,  was  first, 
and  most  important  of  all,  to  try  his  hideous  dis- 
guise on  his  arch-enemy,  David,  and  later  on 
visit  each  house  on  the  street.  He  knew  the 
room  David  slept  in,  where  a  light  was  always 
kept  dimly  burning,  and,  as  he  had  learned  that 
the  wretched  man  was  too  feeble  to  be  again 
lured  out,  his  only  chance  was  to  show  himself 
at  David's  window. 

It  was  late  that  spook-infested  evening  when 
Nezer  crept,  barefoot,  out  of  Aunt  Comfort's 
kitchen  door.  The  night  was  starlit  only, 
and,  taking  his  mask,  head-dress,  and  much- 
soiled  old  night-shirt  out  of  hiding,  and  with 
the  priceless  bit  of  phosphorus  he  had  kept 
in  a  spice-box  full  of  water  safely  in  his  pocket, 
he  scampered  across  lots  to  the  grist-mill.  Here 
out  of  sight  or  possible  detection  Nezer  arrayed 
himself  as  Scar  Face  once  more,  and  emerged 
ready  for  his  star  act,  little  realizing  its  out- 
come. 

There  were  no  occupied  houses  in  sight  of 


336  THE   HERMIT 

David's.  The  Hallowe'en  observers  had  con- 
fined their  observance  to  the  lower  part  of  the 
village,  the  unceasing  rumble  of  the  falls, 
where  they  leaped  into  a  deep  pool,  the  only 
sound  heard  there ;  and  David,  with  his  sorely 
troubled  mind,  knew  not,  nor  recalled  what 
date  it  was.  He  only  lived  a  wretched,  aim- 
less, hopeless  life,  an  imbecile  almost  by  day, 
and  dreading  each  night.  There  was  none 
to  pity  him  or  lift  a  finger  unless  paid.  He 
would  sit  for  hours  with  bowed  head  in  the 
mill,  uttering  no  word,  lie  sleepless  on  his 
bed,  dreading  lest  he  hear  ghostly  footsteps, 
or,  if  he  slept,  wake  in  the  dead  of  night, 
expecting  to  find  Amzi  standing  near.  This 
last  dread  was  the  most  potent  of  all,  and  the 
one  he  never  escaped. 

He  had  on  this  Hallow-eve  sat  up  late  as 
usual  (since  sleep  was  fearsome),  and  had 
been  in  bed  but  a  few  moments.  The  light 
was  turned  low,  the  steady  breathing  of  his 
hired  man  in  another  bed  was  the  only  sound, 
and  as  David  lay  there  in  the  dead  silence  of 
a  still  night,  suddenly  he  heard  stealthy  foot- 
steps outside  among  the  fallen  leaves. 


HALLOWE'EN  337 

Wide  apart  they  were  and  slow,  like  a  pan- 
ther creeping  up,  yet  each  one  nearer, —  nearer, 
—  nearer.  Once  they  ceased,  and  then  again 
he  heard  that  faint  crushing  of  dried  leaves, 
almost  up  to  the  window  close  to  his  bed. 

He  sat  up,  his  eyes  wide  open,  while  the 
sweat  of  deathly  fear  gathered  on  his  pallid 
face. 

And  now,  slowly  rising  above  the  window- 
sill,  came  first  a  group  of  feathers,  all  awry,  then 
two  small  circles  of  glowing  light,  two  hideous, 
ghastly  eyes ! 

An  instant  he  saw  them,  the  next  a  more 
horrible  mouth,  with  teeth  alight,  arose  in 
view. 

Only  a  moment  did  his  fear-taxed  brain 
withstand  the  awful  strain  —  the  next,  reason 
gave  way,  and,  with  an  agonized  scream,  he 
leaped  from  his  bed  and  out  of  the  house. 

And  Nezer  was  almost  as  badly  scared. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

NO   MOURNERS 

How  Aunt  Lorey  and  the  hired  man's  wife 
were  awakened  by  the  latter's  spouse  that 
Hallowe'en  night,  how  the  two  women,  wrapped 
in  quilts,  sat  in  fear  and  trembling  while  the 
hired  man  vainly  searched  the  premises  with  a 
lantern  and  later  related  how  he  was  scared 
almost  out  of  his  wits  by  the  delirious  conduct 
of  David,  and  how,  when  daylight  came,  the 
story  spread  over  the  village  like  wild-fire,  was 
perhaps  the  most  exciting  incident  Greenvale 
ever  knew.  For  over  two  months  now  it  had 
been  known  that  David  was  in  a  precarious 
condition ;  his  premises  were  by  some  considered 
haunted;  the  old  scandal  of  Amzi's  disappear- 
ance was  revived  and  discussed,  also  what  the 
outcome  would  be  in  case  Martin  married  Angie 
and  "  took  the  law  "  on  David.  And  so  inter- 
ested was  the  entire  village  now  in  the  latest 
338 


NO   MOURNERS  339 

development — the  midnight  and  supposed  in- 
sane flight  of  David  —  that  the  sun  was  scarcely 
up  an  hour  ere  his  premises  were  almost  black 
with  people.  Angie  only  remained  away,  but 
Aunt  Comfort  was  in  the  crowd  and  Dr.  Sol 
led  the  searchers.  Nezer,  a  good  deal  scared, 
but  holding  his  peace,  was  with  the  rest,  but 
search  where  they  would,  no  trace  of  David 
was  found.  Both  mills  were  examined  time 
and  again,  and  every  outhouse ;  small  parties 
probed  the  mill  flumes  with  long  sticks  ;  the 
pool  below  the  falls  was  examined  with  poles 
and  grappling  hooks,  while  others  scoured  the 
woods,  but  without  avail. 

David  had  vanished  like  his  brother,  and  the 
mystery  grew  deeper. 

Suicide,  of  course,  was  his  fate,  or  else  death 
from  exposure,  for  at  his  age  and  in  his  condi- 
tion, no  man  could  live  long  wandering  de- 
mented and  almost  nude  in  the  woods  and 
swamps.  This  was  the  general  verdict,  and 
when  noon  came  and  the  crowd  dispersed,  a  few 
men  and  boys  organized  and  began  a  more 
extended  search. 

It  was  three  days  before  they  found  David, 


34O  THE   HERMIT 

and  then  his  body  was  discovered  in  the  mid- 
dle of  Mizzy  swamp,  miles  away.  And  as  if 
providential  retribution  led  those  searchers, 
it  was  Nezer  who  first  received  the  shock  of 
discovery. 

******* 

"  I  s'pose  we'd  orter  wear  mournin'  fer  a  spell 
jist  fer  the  looks  on  't,"  Aunt  Comfort  said  the 
night  after  the  funeral  to  Angie,  "  he  was  your 
father's  brother,  arter  all,  'n'  you're  like  to  cum" 
in  fer  suthin'.  I  wonder  if  he  left  a  will?" 

This  combination  of  interest  not  only  ex- 
pressed Aunt  Comfort's  broad  charity,  but  re- 
flected all  that  Greenvale  now  cared  for  David 
Curtis. 

No  will  was  found,  however,  except  the 
original  one  that  had  separated  two  brothers  for 
life.  Bank-books  there  were  and  bonds,  and 
certificates  of  valuable  stock  as  well,  a  total 
that  fairly  took  Aunt  Comfort's  breath  away. 
She  and  Dr.  Sol  and  wife,  with  Phinney,  were 
the  only  ones  present  when  David's  room  was 
searched,  and  a  tin  deed  box  containing  these 
valuables  was  opened. 

In  this  box  was  an  envelope  also,  and  in  it  a 


NO  MOURNERS  341 

scrap  of  paper  upon  which  was  scrawled,  "  If 
ever  you  sell  one  foot  of  land,  I  will  return  to 
you  in  body  or  spirit."  With  this  was  a  copy 
of  a  bargain  signed  by  Martin  Frisbie,  and 
agreeing  to  pay  David  twenty-eight  thousand 
dollars,  for  mill,  land,  and  power,  therein  speci- 
fied, within  one  year  from  date,  or  forfeit  the 
two  thousand  dollars  already  paid,  and  in 
David's  bed  was  also  found  that  amount  in 
bills. 

Dr.  Sol  was  appointed  administrator  by 
Squire  Phinney,  the  hired  man  and  wife  were 
paid  and  dismissed,  and  the  house  locked. 
This,  the  business  end  of  David's  life,  like  his 
tearless  funeral,  was  a  mere  matter  of  routine, 
and  yet  there  were  other  and  far-reaching  out- 
comes of  public  interest.  First  and  foremost 
was  the  question  of  inheritance.  Angie,  of 
course,  the  sole  heir,  would  inherit  in  due  time, 
and  after  legal  preliminaries  had  been  adjusted, 
and  provided  no  other  claimant  appeared. 
Upon  this,  however,  there  was  a  divergence  of 
opinion.  Many  still  believed  Amzi  yet  alive, 
some  insisted  that  he  must  be  (and  that  it  was 
known  to  David),  and  a  few  were  positive  that 


342  THE   HERMIT 

his  ghostly  presence  had  been  the  cause  of 
David's  first  case  of  "fits,"  as  a  return  on  Hal- 
lowe'en had  been  of  the  final  scare. 

It  was  but  justice,  as  all  agreed,  and  yet  it  was 
a  mystery  as  dark  and  uncanny  as  the  hackma- 
tack swamp  where  David  was  found.  For 
three  months  many  had  considered  his  prem- 
ises haunted,  now  this  number  was  increased ; 
and  out  of  those  who  still  scouted  the  idea  of 
any  ghostly  connection,  there  were  few  who 
would  have  visited  either  mill  or  the  big 
empty  house  after  dark. 

But  the  Mizzy  falls  kept  on  rumbling,  the 
autumn  winds  swept  the  dead  leaves  into  every 
nook  and  cranny  of  the  premises,  the  leafless 
elms  moaned,  the  loose  boards  of  the  old  house 
creaked  by  night,  and  if  Amzi's  ghost  came  not, 
it  seemed  that  David  would  be  like  to  come. 

A  foolish  will  had  wrought  its  worse  than 
finite  woe,  a  mean  and  miserly  hypocrite  had 
continued  it,  and  dead,  had  —  like  a  serpent  — 
left  his  trail  and  impress  upon  Greenvale. 

When  the  outcome  of  David's  death,  scarcely 
realized  as  yet  by  Aunt  Comfort,  was  conveyed 
by  her  to  Angie,  it  was  told  with  bated  breath 


NO   MOURNERS  343 

and  as  if  a  ghost  might  be  listening.  It  was 
all  so  sudden,  and  so  quite  overwhelming  also, 
Angie  was  stunned.  All  her  life  long  she  had 
felt  a  grievous  wrong  had  been  done  her  father, 
and  she  had  been  left  to  suffer  for  it.  At  times 
she  had  felt  such  bitter  hatred  of  her  uncle  that 
his  very  name,  and  sight  of  his  pinched  face  was 
obnoxious.  At  his  funeral  she  would  not  look 
upon  him,  and  when  the  "  earth  to  earth,  and 
dust  to  dust,"  finale  came,  only  its  solemnity 
impressed  her. 

We  do  not  even  admit  some  thoughts  and 
feelings,  and  when  those  who  have  wronged  us 
most  pass  down  into  their  final  resting-place, 
our  lips  must  also  remain  sealed,  and  when 
Angie  turned  away  from  her  uncle's  grave, 
she  would  not  say,  "  I  am  glad,"  and  could 
not  say,  "  I  am  sorry." 

Neither  did  the  fact  that  she  was  to  inherit 
his  estate  undo  the  sense  of  wrong.  It  was  not 
his  will  and  wish  that  this  was  to  be,  he  had  not 
thought  of  her,  or  justice  to  her  in  life,  and  only 
the  law's  mandate  now  said  so,  and  that  left  a 
taint  on  the  heritage.  He  had  wronged  her 
father  in  the  long  ago,  and  had  driven  him  from 


344  THE   HERMIT 

home,  had  kept  what  was  hers  by  right,  and,  in 
spite  of  public  opinion,  willingly  saw  her  de- 
pendent upon  charity  and  her  own  effort  to 
earn  a  trifle,  and  now,  in  passing,  had  left  her 
to  stifle  her  natural  feelings  as  best  she  could. 
But  there  was  one  spot  of  silver  beneath  the 
cloud,  and  that,  the  face  of  Aunt  Comfort  and 
the  chance  to  reward  her,  was  some  compen- 
sation for  all  her  self-denials.  It  was  the  first 
and  about  the  only  impulse  that  came  to  Angie 
when  the  tragic  shock  had  passed  away,  and  that 
night  when  the  two  sat  beside  their  little  round 
table  recounting  all  that  had  been  said  and  done 
in  the  past  few  days,  this  chance  was  Angie's 
only  sense  of  gratitude.  She  had  weeks  before 
come  to  realize  that  any  change  in  her  own  life 
would  and  must  be  impossible  while  Aunt 
Comfort  lived,  and  Martin's  self-evident  hopes 
seemed  doomed  to  fail.  To  care  for  the  good 
old  soul,  who  had  been  home  and  mother  since 
childhood,  she  must,  or  forever  despise  herself, 
and  although  this  legacy  would  remove  the  nar- 
row and  cramping  poverty  that  had  been  theirs 
always,  the  obligation  remained,  and  with  Angie 
such  a  debt  was  sacred. 


NO   MOURNERS  345 

With  Aunt  Comfort  it  was  otherwise,  as 
might  be  expected,  and  when  the  evening  had 
grown  late  and  the  fire  had  burned  low,  her 
resume"  of  the  situation  may  well  be  quoted. 

"  I've  allers  b'lieved  the  Lord  ud  see  justice 
done  us  all,"  she  said,  "  and  I  b'lieve  He  has. 
He  ain't  like  to  bring  Amzi  back  to  life,  but 
maybe  He's  gin  David  his  just  desarts.  I  don't 
exactly  believe  in  sperits,  yet  it  looks  ez  if  the 
hantin'  o'  conscience  had  made  David  see  one 
the  night  he  was  took  with  a  fit  last  summer  'n' 
again  now  when  he  run  off  in  the  night.  He's 
wronged  your  father  'n'  you  all  his  life  long,  'n' 
if  his  sufferin'  from  conscience  ain't  a  dispensa- 
tion o'  Providence  'n'  his  just  desarts,  I  dunno 
what  would  be.  Thar  is  one  thing  I  can't  quite 
figger  out,  'n'  that  is,  what  made  Martin  Frisbie 
pay  him  two  thousand  dollars  fer  an  agreement 
o'  a  deed  o'  the  mills  'n'  Mizzy  lands,  'n'  what 
he  wanted  on  'em.  It  looks  curus,  but  I  s'pose 
he'll  explain  when  he  gits  back.  It's  'most  time 
he  did,  too ;  he's  ben  gone  now  'most  two 
months."  Then  she  paused,  looking  at  Angie 
and  smiling  benevolently.  "It'll  all  be  in  the 
family,  I  s'pose,"  she  continued,  still  smiling, 


346  THE   HERMIT 

"when  you  'n'  Martin  git  married,  ez  I  spect 
you  will  in  time.  Thar  ain't  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't,  'n'  you  will  be  middlin'  well  off 
in  your  own  right  now,  if  anything  happens,  'n' 
fer  that  you  ought  to  be  thankful." 

To  Aunt  Comfort  this  consummation  seemed 
most  natural  and  to  be  expected.  More  than 
that  no  thought  of  how  that  event  would 
affect  her  own  happiness  came  to  her. 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  to  be  rid  of  me  so  easily," 
answered  Angie,  lightly,  "and  if  you  want  to 
be,  you  can't,  either.  I  wouldn't  marry  Martin 
or  the  best  man  that  ever  lived,  and  desert  you 
now." 

But  Aunt  Comfort  only  smiled  again,  serene 
in  her  faith  of  what  must  inevitably  happen. 

For  a  little  while  the  two  remained  silent, 
each  absorbed  in  her  widely  divergent  line  of 
reflection,  while  the  tall  clock  ticked  on,  the 
evening  breeze  rustled  the  brown  leaves  about 
the  house,  and  the  fire  burned  low.  At  last 
Aunt  Comfort,  still  smiling,  began  to  doze, 
and  Angie  was  alone  with  her  thoughts. 

And  then  back  to  the  old  days  of  her  girl- 
hood they  sped  in  spite  of  all  resolutions, 


NO   MOURNERS  347 

and  once  again  the  old  memories  returned. 
They  were  only  fond  recollections  now,  for 
he  who  had  inspired  them  had  passed  out 
of  her  life  for  good,  and  could  not  now  be 
allowed  admission  again.  He  must  never  even 
know  she  retained  them.  Her  path  of  duty 
was  clear,  and  beside  the  good  motherly  soul 
who  had  been  all  in  all  to  her  so  long  —  beside 
her  and  for  her  she  must  and  would  live  until 
the  patient  hands  were  folded  at  last  and  the 
wrinkled  face  would  smile  no  more. 

It  was  a  duty  of  love  and  gratitude,  ten 
times  stronger  than  all  the  silly  impulses  once 
inspired  by  Martin  and  now  sought  to  be 
renewed  by  him.  True  he  was  manly  and 
tender,  and  somehow,  absent,  now  was 
nearer  to  her  than  when  present.  He  had 
shown  repentance  for  his  old-time  neglect 
which,  after  all,  was  not  surprising ;  and 
had  almost  begged  for  tacit  forgiveness  and 
reinstatement  in  her  favor.  She  recognized 
that  to  live  alone  and  without  a  man's  protec- 
tion was  not  easy  for  any  woman,  and  yet  so 
she  had  resolved  and  for  a  reason  that  seemed 
sacred. 


348  THE   HERMIT 

Then  she  fell  to  wondering  what  kept  him 
so  long  in  the  wilderness  and  why  it  was 
that  unique  birch-bark  letter,  scrawled  with 
a  charred  stick,  had  been  sent  in  an  envelope 
directed  by  some  one  else.  She  had  opened 
it  with  eagerness,  and  tried  again  and  again 
to  decipher  words  impossible  to  read.  It  con- 
tained naught  except  what  all  might  read 
without  question,  if  they  could,  and  yet  no 
missive  ever  received  by  her  had  been  valued 
more. 

His  movements  and  plans  in  life  were  not 
her  concern,  of  course,  and  not  likely  to  be. 
She  had  renounced  him  for  good  and  all  now, 
and  if  he  returned  and  pleaded  his  love,  as 
she  imagined  he  might,  it  would  avail  not. 
Her  resolve  was  made  and  final  —  and  yet 
Martin  absent  was  stronger  than  Martin  pres- 
ent, and  the  old  sweet  illusion  hard  to  eradi- 
cate. 

There  are  turning-points  in  life,  when  to 
choose  the  path  of  duty  brings  a  heartache, 
and  such  a  one  now  confronted  Angie,  yet 
she  faltered  not,  and  the  gray  head  with  its 
white  cap  and  wrinkled  face,  now  nodding  just 


NO   MOURNERS  349 

across  the  table,  still  seemed  her  shrine  of 
duty. 

And  yet  —  and  yet  — 

The  fire  had  burned  quite  out  —  only  one 
tiny  coal  still  glowed  among  the  white  ashes,- 
the  tall  clock  kept  saying,  "  Never,  —  never,  — 
never,"  the  night  wind  still  rustled  the  dead 
leaves  in  the  dooryard,  and  life  to  Angie 
seemed  like  the  clock's  solemn  voice. 

Suddenly  Aunt  Comfort  woke  up  and  looked 
at  her  companion. 

"  Why,  Angie,"  she  said,  "  you've  ben 
cryin' !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

A    TROUBLED    CONSCIENCE 

WHEN  Nezer  saw  the  white-clad  figure  of 
David  Curtis  burst  out  of  the  house  and  vanish 
in  the  darkness  with  a  yell  of  fear,  his  in- 
grained love  of  mischief  received  a  keen  but 
momentary  satisfaction,  followed  by  a  sudden 
dread  of  consequences,  and  instead  of  continu- 
ing his  ghost  parade  down  the  street,  he 
sneaked  away  over  the  hills  and  hid  his  Scar 
Face  disguise.  The  next  day  he  joined  with 
the  rest  in  a  search  for  David,  and  when  it  cul- 
minated in  Nezer's  grewsome  discovery,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  began  to  repent  of  his 
devilment.  It  was  fear  of  being  found  out,  of 
course,  rather  than  regret;  and  yet  its  results 
were  the  same.  That  feeling  increased  hour  by 
hour,  and  by  the  time  the  tolling  bell  sounded 
its  solemn  warning  and  the  short  procession 
35° 


"LET'S    SEE    YOUR   TONGUE   AGIN" — PagC   353 


A  TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE  351 

started  on  its  errand,  Nezer  had  reached  a  state 
of  abject  misery.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
must  be  suspected  by  some  one,  and  if  found 
out,  the  dire  punishment  sure  to  follow  was  fear- 
ful to  contemplate.  He  had  read  of  lifelong 
imprisonment,  and  hangings,  —  the  latter  with 
eager  interest,  —  and  now  it  began  to  dawn  on 
him  that  he  might  become  the  central  figure  in 
such  a  scene,  and  the  thought  was  fearful  to  con- 
template. He  knew  he  had  done  something 
awful ;  in  its  results  at  least,  and  possibly  the 
law  would  consider  it  murder. 

He  dared  not  confide  in  any  one,  so  his  imagi- 
nation grew  more  terrible  with  doubt  until  he 
was  sure  hanging  would  be  his  fate  if  discov- 
ered. This  dread  certainty  grew  worse  day  by 
day,  he  could  not  eat  nor  study,  and  if  a  team 
stopped  in  front  of  Aunt  Comfort's,  or  a  man 
looked  at  him  unduly,  he  felt  worse.  Then  he 
began  to  have  troubled  dreams,  saw  himself 
bound  hand  and  foot  and  carried  to  Riverton, 
where  the  court-house  and  jail  were,  then  locked 
in  a  narrow  cell,  and  twice  he  dreamed  that  he 
was  standing  on  a  scaffold  with  a  noose  about 
his  neck.  He  began  to  grow  thin  and  haggard, 


352  THE   HERMIT 

and  as  Aunt  Comfort  would  call  it,  "wofully 
peaked." 

And  now  ensued  a  most  ludicrous  game  of 
cross-purposes,  for  there  wasn't  an  ache  or  pain 
suggested  by  Aunt  Comfort  that  he  didn't  have. 
The  comedy  was  of  short  duration,  however, 
for  the  chance  to  dose  some  one  was  consola- 
tion to  Aunt  Comfort,  and  she  acted  promptly. 

"Stick  out  your  tongue,"  she  said  to  Nezer, 
and  a  red  and  healthy  specimen  shot  out  of  his 
face. 

"  Nothin'  the  matter  with  yer  stummick  ez  I 
kin  see,"  she  ejaculated,  feeling  of  his  hands, 
"  V  no  signs  o'  fever.  You  say  your  head 
aches,  V  back,  'n'  legs,  V  you  sartainly  ain't 
eatin'  nat'rally.  Do  ye  hev  cold  chills  up  'n' 
down  yer  spine?" 

"  Yessum,"  responded  Nezer,  eagerly. 

"  Feel  dizzy  ?  " 

"All  the  time." 

"  Sick  to  yer  stummick  ? " 

"  Yessum." 

"  Bad  dreams,  you  say  ? " 

"Yessum." 

"Well,    yer   gittin'    bilyus,"    returned    Aunt 


A  TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE  353 

Comfort,  wiping  her  "  specs "  on  her  apron, 
adjusting  them  and  pulling  one  of  the  invalid's 
eyelids  down.  "  Let's  see  your  tongue  agin." 

For  a  moment  she  scanned  it,  and  then 
added,  "  You  want  a  good  dose  of  thorough- 
wort  'n'  I  guess  I'll  begin  with  lobelia,"  and  she 
started  for  the  attic. 

"  It's  curus,"  she  observed  to  Angie,  after 
Nezer  had  swallowed  his  dose  of  lobelia  tea 
without  a  murmur  and  hastened  out  of  the 
kitchen,  "  I  never  saw  that  boy  so  willin'  ter 
take  medicine  afore,  'n'  yet  he  ain't  got  no  signs, 
'ceptin'  loss  of  appetite  'n'  a  leetle  yaller  round 
the  eyes.  Must  be  suthin'  comin'  on,  though." 

If  there  was,  she  took  prompt,  vigorous 
methods  to  head  it  off,  however,  and  gave 
Nezer  no  rest. 

At  first  he  had  dreaded  discovery  and  dreamed 
of  hanging,  but,  inside  of  two  days,  a  persistent 
course  of  thoroughwort,  catnip,  opodeldoc,  and 
lobelia,  again  varied  by  hot  applications  of  bur- 
dock leaves  and  pepper  tea,  had  made  prison 
seem  a  blessed  escape  from  trouble,  and  vinegar 
taste  sweet. 

By  this  time  Nezer  was  sick  in  earnest,  and 

2A 


354  THE  HERMIT 

Aunt  Comfort,  somewhat  scared,  sent  for  Dr. 
Sol.  He  examined  him,  and  after  Aunt  Com- 
fort had  recounted  the  remedies  she  had  tried, 
he  laughed. 

"You've  both  had  a  good  time,  I  guess,"  he 
said,  "and  the  boy  won't  soon  forget  it,  but 
there's  nothing  the  matter  with  him." 

Aunt  Comfort  was  not  convinced,  however, 
and  though  Nezer  began  to  eat  again,  she 
watched  him  continuously  for  more  symptoms, 
and  his  dread  returned. 

For  some  years  it  had  been  Angie's  custom 
to  devote  a  few  Saturday  afternoons  to  out- 
door excursions,  usually  taking  Nezer  along  for 
company  and  protection.  In  spring  they  went 
after  arbutus,  cowslips,  water-cress,  and  later 
for  strawberries  and  other  summer  fruits.  In 
autumn,  when  the  woods  were  brown  and  golden, 
nut-gathering  was  the  incentive,  and  then  Nezer 
was  indispensable.  They  had  been  out  twice 
since  Martin  had  gone  away,  and  now  when 
Saturday  came  again,  she  took  Nezer  and 
started  once  more,  and  never  was  the  boy 
more  grateful  for  the  chance.  To  him  —  in 
spite  of  his  mischievous  nature — Angie  was  the 


A  TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE  355 

one  person  whom  he  most  adored  —  almost  a 
goddess,  at  whose  shrine  he  worshipped.  He 
had  by  this  time  become  so  reduced  in  spirits  — 
thanks  to  "  arbs  "  —  that  he  felt  the  absolute 
need  of  making  some  one  his  confidante.  He 
had,  in  fact,  kept  his  awful  secret  as  long  as 
possible,  and  to  no  one  but  Angie  would  he 
or  could  he  dare  confess  it.  Like  the  young 
Indian  he  was,  however,  he  always  approached 
all  things  by  circuitous  routes,  and  when  they 
were  well  away  from  the  village  this  autumn 
afternoon,  and  while  poking  away  the  rustling 
leaves  in  search  of  nuts,  he  began. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  'twas  a  ghost  as  scared 
old  David  the  night  he  runned  away  ? "  he 
asked. 

"Why,  no,"  answered  Angie,  curious  at 
once,  and  knowing  Nezer  never  asked  a  ques- 
tion without  an  object,  "there  are  no  such 
things  as  ghosts." 

"Wus  it  Amzi  come  back  'n'  peekin'  in,  do 
ye  think?" 

"  No,  that  isn't  possible,"  came  the  sober 
answer. 

"Wus  it 'n  Injun,  do  ye  s'pose?" 


356  THE   HERMIT 

"  There  are  no  Indians  about  here,"  re- 
sponded Angle,  with  aroused  suspicions,  and 
looking  sharply  at  Nezer.  "  It  might  have 
been  a  bad  boy,  I  know,  dressed  up  as  an 
Indian.  Who  do  you  think  it  was  ? " 

Nezer,  kneeling  on  the  ground,  looked  fur- 
tively up  at  Angie,  and  then  suddenly  became 
absorbed  in  his  search  for  nuts. 

"  I  dunno  who  'twas,"  he  said,  "  'thout  'twas 
a  ghost.  Folks  say  'twas,  'n'  the  mill  is 
haunted;  I  wouldn't  go  thar  arter  dark,  would 
you  ? " 

Angie,  knowing  Nezer  full  well,  made  no 
response,  feeling  sure  some  admission  would 
follow  if  she  waited.  For  a  few  moments  he 
pawed  away  the  rustling  leaves,  and  then 
looked  up  at  Angie  again. 

"  Say,  Angie,"  he  said,  "  won't  ye  never 
tell  nobody  if  I  tell  ye  suthin'  ?  " 

"  No,  Nezer,"  she  answered  seriously. 

"Hope  ter  die?" 

"Hope  to  die." 

"  Hope  the  buggers  '11  carry  ye  off  if  ye 
do?" 

"  Hope  they  will." 


A  TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE  357 

Then  Nezer,  having  thus  sealed  her  lips, 
arose. 

"  Come  with  me,"  he  said,  "  V  I'll  show  ye 
suthin',''  and  he  led  the  way  into  the  woods. 

For  a  quarter  mile  Angie  followed  him  into 
the  forest,  until  a  dark  thicket  of  hemlocks, 
choked  with  boulders,  was  entered,  and  here 
he  dropped  prone  to  earth  beside  one,  and, 
reaching  into  a  crevasse  beneath  it,  drew  forth 
a  bundle,  and,  undoing  it,  held  up  the  hideous 
mask  and  head-dress  of  "  Scar  Face." 

For  a  moment  he  grinned  at  Angie,  and 
then  put  them  on.  "  Would  ye  be  skeered 
now  ter  meet  me  arter  dark?"  he  queried. 

It  was  such  a  na'fve  and  Nezer-like  way  of 
confession,  that,  in  spite  of  the  recent  tragic 
event,  Angie  almost  laughed. 

"And  so  you  are  responsible  for  this  awful 
happening,"  she  said,  as  sternly  as  she  could. 
"  Now  I  know  what  has  ailed  you  for  a  week, 
and  I  am  glad  Auntie  gave  you  lobelia;  you 
deserved  worse  medicine." 

It  wasn't  uttered  with  convincing  force,  how- 
ever, and  when  Nezer's  face  emerged  from 
the  mask,  he  looked  both  proud  and  relieved. 


358  THE   HERMIT 

"  I  s'pose  they'd  put  me  in  jail  if  'twas 
found  out,"  he  said,  as  he  hid  the  mask  again, 
and  led  the  way  out  of  the  woods.  "  You 
don't  think  they'd  hang  me,  do  ye,  Angie  ?  " 

This  time  Angie  had  to  laugh. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,  Nezer,"  she  said. 
"  I've  promised  to  keep  your  secret,  and  I 
will."  And  when  the  border  of  the  woods  was 
reached,  she  sat  on  the  leaf-carpeted  ground 
and  listened  for  an  hour  to  Nezer's  recital  of 
his  exploit. 

And  of  the  two,  it  is  certain  he  enjoyed 
the  telling  the  more. 

"  It  was  an  awful  thing  to  do,  Nezer,"  Angie 
asserted  when  the  tale  was  told,  "  and  I'm  glad 
it  isn't  on  my  conscience.  If  you  don't  quit 
moping  around  the  way  you  have,  however, 
and  act  natural,  all  Greenvale  will  guess  your 
secret  before  long." 

But  Nezer  was  cured  already,  and  when  the 
lowering  sun  had  started  them  homeward,  he 
was  almost  hilarious  in  his  joy.  On  their  way 
they  passed  Martin's  fish-pond,  and  here  a 
surprise  awaited  Angie,  for  the  long,  narrow 
lakelet  lay  smiling  and  gently  rippled  in  the 


A  TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE  359 

autumn  breeze,  a  thin  sheet  of  water  poured 
over  the  well-built  dam,  and  beside  the  pond, 
and  sheltered  by  a  tree-crowned  hillock,  stood 
a  tiny  cottage  with  wide  veranda. 

"  It's  fer  old  Cy,"  explained  Nezer,  with 
almost  the  delight  of  possession.  "  Hisn's  so 
old  V  tumbledown,  Martin  built  this  fer  him 
ter  watch  the  pond,  so  us  boys  wouldn't  be 
ketchin'  the  trout.  I  wouldn't,"  he  added,  with 
astonishing  frankness,  "fer  I  ketched  more'n 
two  hundred  on  'em  ter  put  in,  'n'  got  ten  cents 
apiece." 

It  was  evident  Martin  had  won  Nezer's  heart, 
and  as  Angie  peeped  into  the  pretty  cottage, 
with  its  two  rooms  below  and  open  fireplace 
in  the  front  one,  and  thought  what  a  palace 
it  would  seem  to  old  Cy  after  his  present 
hovel,  somehow  her  heart  felt  heavy.  He 
who  had  built  this,  out  of  kindly  feeling  for 
old  Cy,  was  once  her  girlish  lover,  and  would 
be  now  again  if  she  so  willed. 

But  it  must  not  be  —  her  resolution  was 
made  —  her  duty  was  plain,  and  to  be  fol- 
lowed at  all  cost  to  herself  or  him. 

Only   a  few   moments    she    looked    at    this 


360  THE   HERMIT 

labor  of  love  for  an  almost  outcast  old  man, 
and  then  turned  away  in  silence.  Over  the 
hills  toward  the  village  she  led  the  way,  paus- 
ing a  moment  at  the  bush-grown  graveyard 
to  place  a  wreath  of  ground-pine  on  a  sunken 
mound  marked  by  a  low,  white  stone  inscribed 
"  Mother,"  and  then  kept  on. 

And  Nezer,  following  close,  and  feeling  it 
would  be  a  privilege  to  kneel  and  kiss  the 
hem  of  her  calico  dress,  wondered  why  her 
face  was  sad,  and  she  so  silent. 

"There  is  no  need  to  dose  Nezer  any 
more,"  she  said  to  Aunt  Comfort  that  night, 
"  I've  found  out  what  ails  him ;  it's  a  troubled 
conscience." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

A   NEW   LIFE 

MARTIN'S  feelings,  when  he  began  the  last 
day's  journey  to  reach  Greenvale  again,  were 
about  equally  divided  between  dread  and  an- 
ticipation. He  had  solved  the  mystery  of 
Amzi's  disappearance, — a  bit  of  news  sure  to 
astonish  Greenvale,  but  of  doubtful  effect  on 
Angle's  peace  of  mind.  He  was  now  in  a 
position  to  secure  justice  for  her,  if  she  would 
permit  such  action,  and  yet  he  dreaded  to 
draw  the  veil  aside  and  tell  her  what  he  must. 
Of  his  own  hopes,  and  the  chance  to  pose  as 
a  benefactor,  he  gave  no  thought.  His  one 
and  only  real  anticipation  was  the  power  he 
now  held  with  certified  facts  to  compel  the 
contemptible  David  Curtis  to  an  act  of  repa- 
ration. It  was  short-lived,  for  as  Martin,  the 
better  to  enjoy  the  scenery  and  learn  the 
361 


362  THE   HERMIT 

latest  news  from  Greenvale,  rode  away  with 
the  driver,  on  his  seat,  that  worthy  waited  not 
to  be  asked  what  it  was. 

"I  s'pose,"  he  said,  "ye  hain't  heerd  how 
old  Dave  Curtis  was  found  dead  up  in  Mizzy 
swamp,  hev  ye  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  is  that  so  ? "  gasped  the  aston- 
ished Martin. 

"  Wai,  'tis  fer  a  fact,"  came  the  answer,  in 
a  tone  that  showed  how  David  stood  in  the 
driver's  estimation.  "  He  wus  took  with  an- 
other fit  the  night  o'  Hallowe'en,  and  lit  out 
with  nothin'  but  his  shirt  on.  We  found  the 
cuss  up  in  Mizzy  swamp  three  days  arter, 
stone  dead,  'n'  stark  naked.  He  was  middlin' 
well  done  up,  too,  by  briers  'n'  fallin'  over 
rocks,  we  callated,  but  thar  wa'n't  no  tears  shed 
on  that  account,  'n'  no  mournin'  when  we 
planted  him,  as  fur  as  I  kin  larn.  The  mills 
is  both  shut  down  now,  'n'  Angie  gits  all  the 
property,  I  s'pose." 

And  this  was  that  stage  driver's  condensed 
obituary  of  the  richest  man  in  Greenvale, 
quoted  verbatim. 

"  But  what  drove   him    out   that   night,"  re- 


A  NEW   LIFE  363 

sponded  Martin,  having  Nezer  in  mind;  "did 
he  see  another  ghost  ?  " 

"  Wai,  we  callate  he  did,  'n'  that's  what  must 
hev  skeered  him.  Thar's  been  curus  things  go- 
in'  on  'bout  his  premises  the  last  three  months, 
'n'  a  good  many  b'lieve  they're  hanted  by 
Amzi's  ghost.  It's  my  private  'pinion  though, 
that  old  Dave's  conscience  had  been  worrying 
him  lately  since  you  come  back.  I've  heerd," 
he  continued,  glancing  at  Martin,  and  anxious 
for  information,  "  that  you've  bought  the  Mizzy 
property  and  was  like  to  begin  legal  percedings 
fer  Angie;  leastwise  that's  the  story." 

Martin  smiled  at  this  truly  Yankee  method 
of  obtaining  news. 

"  I  did  obtain  an  option  on  the  property," 
he  responded.  "  But  as  for  bringing  any  legal 
action,  I've  never  said  I  should.  I  was  willing 
to  buy  the  Mizzy  power  and  land,  however, 
and  pay  David's  price." 

"Wai,  mebbe  that  won't  be  necessary  now," 
with  another  inquisitive  glance ;  "  they're  all 
comin'  to  Angie  now,  'n'  —  'n',  we  all  callate 
it'll  be  plain  sailin'  now  fur  you." 

But  Martin  made  no  response  to  this  decid- 


364  THE   HERMIT 

edly  pointed  assertion,  and  little  did  that  Yan- 
kee stage  driver  realize  how  far  away  from 
"  plain  sailing  "  Martin's  future  course  seemed 
to  him.  He  had  returned  to  Greenvale  pre- 
pared to  astonish  the  natives,  confound  David 
Curtis,  and  save  Angie  her  heritage,  only  to 
find  that  the  Great  Reaper  had  robbed  him 
of  his  opportunity.  For  David,  he  felt  not 
one  grain  of  pity  or  regret,  and  as  for  Angie, 
his  first  thought  was,  —  was  it  now  wisest  or 
best  to  disclose  the  fact  of  her  father's  exist- 
ence at  all  ?  It  was  but  momentary,  for  come 
what  might,  it  was  Martin's  fixed  faith  that 
all  concealments  would  prove  unwise  in  the 
end.  His  first  plan  had  been  to  go  to  Angie 
as  soon  as  possible  after  he  arrived,  and  tell 
her  all.  She,  first  and  foremost,  should  hear 
it.  He  dreaded  the  telling,  however,  for  many 
reasons.  Then  its  results  on  Angle's  peace 
of  mind  and  future  was  an  all-important  matter, 
and  his  own  hopes  as  well.  Beyond  these  what 
must  or  could  be  done  with  her  father  ?  It 
was  all  a  most  perplexing  problem,  and  the 
solution  of  it  must  inevitably  devolve  upon 
Angie. 


A  NEW   LIFE  365 

For  half  the  slow  journey  to  Greenvale, 
Martin  listened  to  the  driver's  repetition  of 
all  the  grewsome  facts  of  David's  fate,  includ- 
ing the  gossip  that  followed  it,  with  interest, 
and  then,  more  absorbed  in  his  own  vexations, 
paid  scant  heed  until  the  doctor's  home  was 
reached. 

A  cordial  welcome  here  and  a  good  supper 
restored  him  somewhat,  and  after  an  hour  of 
patient  listening  to  the  doctor's  version  of  the 
all-important  news,  and  still  retaining  his  own, 
he  rose  and  declared  his  intention  of  calling 
upon  Angie. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,"  laughed  the  doctor, 
"and  I  wish  you  success.  If  you  didn't  pop 
the  question  before  you  left,  you  ought  to  to- 
night, and  matters  between  you  must  be  set- 
tled soon,  as  I  need  your  advice  regarding 
her  estate.  I  am  appointed  administrator  and 
have  awaited  your  return  before  doing  any- 
thing." 

It  was  a  pleasant  send-off,  but  a  proposal  of 
marriage  was  farthest  from  Martin's  thoughts 
just  now. 

It  was    late   when    he    reached    Aunt   Com- 


366  THE   HERMIT 

fort's,  and  she  and  Angle,  always  awaiting 
each  other's  wish  to  retire,  were  alone  in  the 
sitting  room.  The  evening,  a  typical  Novem- 
ber one,  was  chilly,  the  stars  obscured,  and  a 
cold  wind  rustled  the  brown  leaves  about  the 
ancient  dwelling.  Angie,  too,  was  in  much 
the  same  mood  as  the  night,  and  for  many 
reasons  that  need  not  be  specified,  and  the 
slow-ticking  clock  and  low-burning  fire,  merely 
accented  her  feelings.  Life  had  for  many 
years  been  without  much  color  for  her,  and 
lately,  less  so  than  ever. 

And  then  came  a  knock,  and  he  who  had 
been  absent  for  two  long  months,  but  oft 
present  in  her  thoughts,  met  her  when  she 
opened  the  door. 

His  greeting,  also,  seemed  unduly  con- 
strained and  formal,  and  after  shaking  hands 
with  Aunt  Comfort,  and  inquiring  after  her 
health,  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire  and  a 
pause  came. 

It  is  always  a  problem  how  either  good  or 
bad  news  can  best  be  conveyed  to  its  recipi- 
ent, and  poor  Martin,  after  many  days  of 


A  NEW   LIFE  367 

worriment  and  dread,  was  now  facing  such. 
And  the  one  person  in  all  the  world  now 
dearest  to  his  heart  was  the  one  most  inter- 
ested. For  a  few  moments  he  watched  the 
smouldering  fire,  the  two  ladies  growing  more 
curious  each  instant,  and  then  he  turned  to 
them. 

"You  must  pardon  my  abstraction,"  he 
said,  "but  I've  only  just  arrived,  and  have 
brought  you  some  strange  news  that  will  seem 
incredible,  and  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  it. 
The  stage  driver  has  told  me  all  that  has  hap- 
pened here,  but  you  two  are  first  to  be  told 
what  I  have  learned." 

He  paused  a  moment,  looking  first  at  Aunt 
Comfort,  now  wide  eyed  with  astonishment, 
then  at  Angie,  even  more  so,  and  then  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  It's  not  bad  news  I  bring  you,  and  yet 
not  as  good  as  I  could  wish.  You  remember 
the  old  hermit  I  told  you  about,  Angie;  we\ll, 
he  is  —  he  is  still  there  and  quite  content  and 
happy,  and  improving  some.  In  fact,  I  found 
him  more  rational,  and  I  left  old  Cy  to  care 
for  him  this  winter.  It  was  fixing  up  his 


368  THE   HERMIT 

cabin  that  has  kept  me  so  long  in  the 
woods." 

Once  more  Martin  paused,  for  the  dread 
secret  wouldn't  out,  and  a  look  of  almost 
terror  had  come  to  Angie. 

"  He  is  all  right,"  continued  poor  Martin 
again,  conscious  he  was  floundering,  and  feel- 
ing his  throat  growing  husky,  "  and  was  — 
and  was  glad  to  hear  from  us  all,  and  —  and 
to  see  your  picture." 

And  now  ensued  a  dramatic  scene,  for 
Angie  was  on  her  feet  instantly,  with  hands 
clasped  and  eyes  dilated. 

"  What  do  you  mean  —  who  is  he  ?  "  she 
almost  screamed. 

Martin  also  arose. 

"Be  calm,  dear  Angie,"  he  said,  "be  calm. 
It  is  blessed  news  I  am  trying  to  tell  you. 
That  poor  old  hermit  is  —  is  your  father." 

For  one  moment  she  gazed  at  Martin  with 
wide-open,  terrified  eyes,  the  next  on  her 
knees  with  her  head  in  Aunt  Comfort's  lap, 
sobbing. 

Then  came  Aunt  Comfort's  heartburst,  and 
all  the  years  of  her  kindly  patient  life  of  love 


A  NEW   LIFE  369 

and  hope  were  condensed  into  few  words. 
For  with  hands  upraised  and  eyes  closed  she 
whispered,  "  O  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  this 
blessed  news  and  all  Thy  goodness.  O  God,  I 
thank  Thee !  "  And  then  she,  too,  was  sobbing. 

Martin  turned  away  with  misty  eyes.  He 
had  heard  prayers,  but  never  one  that  touched 
his  heart  like  this. 

It  was  all  over  in  less  time  than  the  telling, 
yet  a  lifelong  drama  was  enacted  in  those  few 
moments,  and  when  Angie  arose  again  —  her 
face  wet  with  tears  and  eyes  still  brimming  — 
she  looked  glorified.  She  could  not  speak, 
but  two  hands  were  extended  to  Martin,  and 
as  he  clasped  them,  the  long  ago  of  first  love 
and  the  now  of  stronger  love  were  joined. 

"  I  can't  thank  you  now,  dear  friend,"  she 
said,  brokenly,  "but  I  shall,  never  fear,  I 
shall." 

It  was  midnight  ere  they  parted ;  when  she 
again  stood  before  the  open  fireplace  where 
only  white  ashes  remained,  and  glanced  at  the 
tall  clock,  she  heard  not  its  solemn  voice,  for 
a  new  life,  a  new  joy,  and  a  wondrously 
blessed  hope  had  come  to  her. 

2B 


CHAPTER   XL 

A     CONFESSION 

MARTIN'S  first  return  and  wooing  of  Angle 
naturally  interested  all  Greenvale,  but  the 
news  of  his  discovery  of  the  long-lost  Amzi 
was,  as  he  expected,  a  veritable  bombshell. 
No  one  except  Aunt  Comfort  and  Angie 
learned  of  it  until  the  next  day,  and  then 
Dr.  Sol,  so  to  speak,  was  the  one  to  sound 
the  alarm.  And  no  medicine  he  ever  gave 
had  quite  such  an  electrical  effect.  Men  driv- 
ing on  the  highway  were  halted  by  others  and 
told ;  women  scurried  across  fields  to  neigh- 
bors' houses  bareheaded  to  carry  the  news ; 
Squire  Phinney's  store  became  a  focal  point 
where  dozens  gathered  to  hear  the  joyful  tid- 
ings told  and  retold  again  and  again,  and 
Angie,  on  her  way  to  school,  had  to  give  up 
and  tarry  for  congratulations.  And  so  cordial 
37° 


A   CONFESSION  371 

were  they,  and  so  warm  a  spot  did  she  hold 
in  Green  vale's  heart,  that  women  insisted  on 
embracing  and  kissing  her  in  the  street,  and 
when  she  finally  reached  the  schoolhouse,  one 
of  the  committee  was  there  awaiting  her  and 
declared  the  school  closed  for  that  day.  She 
had  walked  there  as  her  duty  called,  but  she 
rode  home,  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  along  the 
way,  with  most  of  her  pupils  following. 

Martin  also  received  an  ovation  wherever 
he  went,  and  when  he  halted  to  describe  the 
hermit  home  of  Amzi,  and  tell  the  tale  over 
and  over  again,  as  perforce  he  had  to,  men 
left  their  work,  and  women  and  children  their 
houses,  to  gather  close  and  listen.  He  was 
really  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  his  efforts 
to  save  Angie  her  heritage,  —  now  known  to 
all,  —  his  wisdom  in  not  even  hinting  his  sus- 
picions of  who  the  hermit  was  until  proved 
true,  and  forethought  in  taking  old  Cy  into 
the  wilderness  to  care  for  him,  were  all  a 
matter  of  comment. 

By  night  the  public  sentiment  had  crystal- 
lized into  a  general  invitation  to  all  to  meet 
in  the  town  hall,  and  listen  to  Martin's  telling 


372 


THE   HERMIT 


his  story  again  in  coherent  order  and  in  full. 
He  rather  laughingly  consented,  and  for  an 
hour  held  the  unique  gathering  spellbound. 
At  its  close  Parson  Jones  was  called  upon,  as 
might  be  expected,  and  uttered  a  fervent 
prayer  of  thankfulness,  and  in  it  ascribing 
Martin's  intuitions  and  actions,  as  a  pertinent 
example  of  divine  interposition,  and  when 
Amen  was  reached,  called  upon  all  to  join  in 
"  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 

It  was  rendered  with  unusual  fervency, 
while  Aunt  Comfort  wiped  her  tears  away, 
and  when  the  audience  dispersed,  Martin 
walked  home  with  her.  Angie  was  not  pres- 
ent, for  she  was  in  a  state  of  almost  mental 
collapse,  and  for  ample  reason. 

Collectively  it  was  an  exhibition  of  public 
sentiment  and  kindly  feeling,  the  like  of 
which  could  nowhere  else  be  found.  Green- 
vale  had  for  many  long  years  felt  that  a 
blemish  rested  upon  it,  and,  like  poor  dog 
Tray,  realized  the  stigma  David  Curtis  was 
responsible  for.  He  had  met  a  just  and  well- 
merited  fate,  and  the  general  belief  was  that 
conscience  had  driven  him  insane.  Angie, 


A  CONFESSION  373 

well  beloved,  had  come  into  her  rights,  and  at 
the  hands  of  a  long-faithful  lover,  who  now 
hoped  to  become  a  citizen  of  that  village. 
Aunt  Comfort,  too,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  re- 
ceive due  reward  for  her  unfailing  charity 
and  general  benevolence,  and  all  in  all  — 
though  slightly  bigoted  —  Greenvale  stood 
ready,  like  the  rest  of  humanity,  to  applaud 
and  reward  all  goodness  and  condemn  all 
vice. 

But  there  was  another,  and  to  Martin  even 
more  interesting,  conclusion  yet  to  be  settled, 
and  alone  in  Aunt  Comfort's  warm  sitting 
room  that  night  they  discussed  it.  What  it 
was  need  not  be  specified,  but  at  the  close 
of  Martin's  plea  for  Angle's  consent  and 
speedy  marriage,  although  she  permitted  his 
arm-clasp,  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  not  yet.  Once  you 
left  me  without  thought  or  care,  and  now  let 
us  try  being  lovers  again.  I  was  forced  to 
try  to  put  you  out  of  my  mind  and  heart 
once,  and  I  wouldn't  care  to  live  through 
another  such  experience. 

"  Beyond  that,  I    have   Aunt   Comfort,  and 


374  THE   HERMIT 

no  love  can  set  aside  my  duty  to  her.  She 
has  been  my  mother  since  a  child,  I  am  all 
there  is  in  life  for  her,  and  her  care  and 
happiness  is  sacred  and  must  be  to  me  so 
long  as  I  live.  You  have  brought  to  me 
also  another  duty,  and  that,  my  poor  father. 
I  shall  not  rest,  or  feel  a  moment's  content, 
until  he  is  here  and  under  my  care.  You 
tell  me  he  is  almost  demented,  but  contented 
where  he  is,  yet  he  is  very  old,  and  to  let 
him  remain  and  die  in  that  miserable  abode 
is  out  of  the  question.  I  would  start  and 
walk  to  where  he  is,  if  it  were  possible,  and 
he  must  be  brought  here  before  I  shall  know 
a  moment's  peace." 

In  vain  Martin  pleaded  that  marriage  would 
be  no  bar  to  this  double  claim ;  her  duty 
must  and  would  be  his  as  well,  and  that 
Aunt  Comfort  would  be  the  happier  for  this 
consummation.  It  was  futile,  for  all  his 
specious  pleadings  and  promises  availed  not. 
Duty  to  those  already  dependent  upon  her 
for  happiness  was  her  guiding  star  and  watch- 
word, and  Martin  had  to  yield  and  accept  it. 

She  even  refused   to   be   considered   as   en- 


A  CONFESSION  375 

gaged,  and  her  reasons  for  it  are  worth 
quoting. 

"  A  verbal  bond  has  no  strength,"  she  said, 
"  unless  reason  wills  and  the  heart  wishes. 
If  you  need  me  and  I  you  for  life,  that  need 
must  hold  us  until  death,  or  it  is  worthless 
and  a  delusion.  Promises  can  neither  add  to, 
or  injure  it,  and  be  it  one  week,  one  year,  or  a 
lifetime  hence,  it  must  hold  and  remain  the 
same  divine  obligation.  Beyond  that,  I  shall 
value  a  faith  and  fidelity,  given  without  ask- 
ing, and  bound  by  no  promise  a  thousand 
times  more  than  all  the  vows  uttered  by 
mortal  lips.  I  did  not  ask  Aunt  Comfort  to 
care  for  me  a  helpless  child  and  not  her 
own ;  she  gave  me  home  and  love  without  it. 
She  would  not  ask  me  to  sacrifice  one  hour 
for  her  selfish  needs,  and  yet  I  am  ready,  and 
shall  if  need  be,  to  devote  all  my  life  solely 
for  her  in  return.  This  and  this  only  is  true 
and  unselfish  love,  and  all  that  is  worth  the 
name." 

Then  they  changed  the  subject  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  ways  and  means  to  rescue  her 
father  from  his  wilderness  abode. 


376  THE  HERMIT 

"  He  has,  so  far  as  I  could  discover,  for- 
gotten his  early  life,"  asserted  Martin,  "and 
while  he  seemed  disturbed  and  in  a  way 
almost  touched  by  the  sight  of  your  pictured 
face,  acted  as  if  the  past  was  a  blank  in 
memory.  Old  Cy  he  recalled  well  enough. 
In  fact  —  and  it  was  curious  —  his  coming 
there  appeared  to  strike  him  as  perfectly 
natural,  and  in  few  days  they  became  like 
two  old  schoolboys  playing  at  keeping  house. 
I'll  wager  at  this  very  moment  they  are 
content  and  talking  about  their  traps,  the 
squirrels,  and  how  thick  the  ice  is  on  the 
lake,  or  how  deep  the  snow  is.  They  once 
were  natural-born  companions  in  outdoor 
sports  and  such  ways  of  living,  and  now  are 
joined  enjoying  the  same  again.  I  took  old 
Cy  along  solely  to  identify  this  hermit,  but 
builded  wiser  than  I  knew,  and  it  turned  out 
more  than  fortunate.  I  was  also  so  sure  I 
had  found  Amzi  that  I  took  in  extra  clothing 
for  him,  and  before  I  left,  sent  our  guides 
to  a  settlement  for  more  provisions  and  need- 
ful articles.  It  was  by  one  of  them  that  I 
sent  you  that  birch-bark  letter,  for  I  was 


A  CONFESSION  377 

without  even  a  pencil.  We  also  repaired  and 
improved  the  cabin ;  built  an  addition  for  the 
guide  I  left  there  for  emergencies ;  they 
have  meat  and  food  supplies  for  a  year,  and 
when  spring  comes,  I'll  take  you  and  Aunt 
Comfort  to  pay  them  a  visit.  To  go  there 
now  is  impossible,  except  to  a  hardy  woods- 
man on  snowshoes,  for  the  only  highways  are 
locked  by  ice  in  that  high  latitude,  and  snow 
is  likely  to  be  a  foot  or  more  deep.  I 
thought  of  all  a  man  could  to  make  your 
poor  father  safe  and  comfortable,  and  believe 
he  is.  I  will  do  anything  you  ask,  will  take 
you  and  Aunt  Comfort  there  when  possible, 
and  then  you  must  judge  what  is  best  to  be 
done.  If  old  Cy's  companionship  has  the 
effect  I  hope  it  will  on  him,  he  may  be 
changed  into  a  more  normal  state  of  mind, 
and  ready  and  even  anxious  to  return  to  civili- 
zation. The  long  years  of  solitary  life  have 
made  him  almost  demented,  however,  and 
nearly  obliterated  even  the  memory  of  you." 

Much  more  —  already  known  —  was  related 
by  Martin,  and  when  the  evening  ended,  a 
few  words  of  defence  for  her  own  resolution 


378  THE   HERMIT 

were  uttered  by  Angle,  and  must  also  be 
quoted. 

"You  have  rendered  my  poor  father  and 
myself,"  she  said,  "a  service  for  which  all 
you  ask  of  me  is  no  more  than  just  reward. 
Some  day  it  shall  be  yours.  And  now  as  partial 
payment  I  will  tell  you  what  has  never  passed 
my  lips,  and  God's  truth. 

"Once  and  when  a  silly  girl  I  grew  into  a 
strangely  sweet  illusion.  I  did  not  know 
what  it  meant  then,  but  blindly  believed  it 
must  last  for  life,  and  that  you  would  seem 
and  be  ever  the  same  to  me.  It  was  self- 
ish, as  first  love  always  is,  but  I  did  not 
know  it.  Now  I  do,  and  that  the  only  love 
worth  calling  such  means  self-sacrifice.  Then 
you  went  away,  and  I  tried  to  forget  you.  It 
was  useless,  for  none  can  force  thought  or 
feeling  either  to  come  or  to  go.  For  years 
I  suffered  as  all  fondly  foolish  girls  must, 
and  in  silence.  It  was  like  the  Saviour's 
cross  to  me,  and  I  helpless  to  escape  its  bur- 
den. In  time  and  by  trying  to  assume  others' 
burdens,  my  own  seemed  lighter.  I  have 
never  complained,  for  it  was  useless.  I  could 


A  CONFESSION  3/9 

not  will  you  back  if  I  tried,  and  the  only 
peace  I  found  was  in  living  for  Aunt  Com- 
fort and  my  pupils.  At  first  I  hoped  you 
might  return  some  day,  but  finally  forced  that 
hope  away.  Other  men  and  good  ones  tried 
to  whisper  love  to  me.  It  made  no  difference, 
for  I  felt  no  response.  I  certainly  would  have 
done  so  if  I  could,  but  I  could  not.  It  seemed 
to  me  God  had  willed  me  to  live  my  life  alone 
and  for  others,  and  even  now  I  feel  the  same. 
Your  finding  my  father,  your  unaccountable  im- 
pulse to  return  here,  then  going  back  to  him 
again  are  all  a  part  of  my  fate.  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  I  can  no  more  escape  my  sense 
of  duty,  and  that  it  is  God's  will  you  should 
bring  me  this  added  one,  than  I  could  put 
you  out  of  my  heart  long  ago.  My  duty  now 
seems  first,  and  when  that  is  performed,  and 
no  one  needs  me  more  than  you,  I  will  be 
yours  until  death  parts  us.  I  could  not  do 
otherwise  if  I  would,  and  I  would  not  if  I 
could." 

And  when  he  parted  from  her,  never  before 
had  he  believed  one  woman  could  seem  so 
priceless. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THANKSGIVING   DAY 

THANKSGIVING  had  always  been  the  most 
important  day  in  Aunt  Comfort's  calendar, 
and  latterly  the  one  most  anticipated  by 
Nezer.  For  many  weeks  previous  to  its  advent 
he  began  to  count  the  days  ere  it  was  due, 
and  when  preparations  came,  he  was  not  only 
a  boy  ready  and  willing  to  do  all  that  was 
asked,  but  one  who  seemed  to  be  hunting  for 
chores  and  chances  to  assist.  First  came  the 
selection  of  the  fattest  turkey  in  the  flock  a 
few  days  ahead,  and  his  cooping  and  extra 
feeding  in  due  preparation  for  the  grand 
event.  In  this  occult  matter  Nezer  displayed 
almost  abnormal  acumen,  and  could  tell  by 
the  bird's  strut  and  how  he  held  his  wings 
which  one  to  choose.  Chickens  must  also  be 
selected  and  shut  up,  and  here  again  Nezer's 
night  visit  to  the  roost  and  choice  of  fowls 
380 


THANKSGIVING   DAY  381 

showed  discretion.  The  yellowest  ripe  pumpkin 
was  picked  out  from  the  pile  by  him,  and  all 
manner  of  smaller  vegetables  as  well.  He  cheer- 
fully carried  a  big  basket  of  good  things  to  old 
Cy  and  others,  and  poor  families  a  mile  away 
for  Aunt  Comfort ;  he  made  no  complaint  at 
chopping  wood,  and  when  the  big  oven  over 
the  fireplace  must  be  cleaned  out,  he  was 
anxious  to  do  it.  By  the  time  the  all-impor- 
tant morning  arrived  he  had  reached  a  state 
of  almost  delirious  excitement,  and  was  usually 
underfoot  all  the  time  while  watching  the 
women  folks  preparing  tarts  and  jellies  and 
filling  the  many  kinds  of  pies,  to  be  deftly 
transferred  to  the  deep  oven  on  a  long-handled 
shovel.  To  keep  him  quiet  he  was  allowed 
to  help,  and  Angie  usually  put  an  apron  on 
him  and  set  him  paring  apples  or  chopping 
mince-meat. 

When  preparations  were  well  on  and  Aunt 
Comfort,  who  never  forgot  to  go  to  church, 
hurried  away  for  the  brief  service,  then  Nezer's 
expectancy  reached  its  critical  stage,  and  not 
even  a  circus  coming  into  town  would  have 
tempted  him  out  of  the  house.  If  company 


382  THE  HERMIT 

came,  his  excitement  was  increased,  and  so 
keen  was  his  anticipation  that  his  best  clothes 
were  donned  with  cheerful  resignation.  The 
only  rift  within  the  lute  of  his  perfect  joy  was 
having  to  wait  so  long,  and,  when  the  banquet 
was  served,  to  be  the  last  to  receive  his  por- 
tion. He  made  amends,  however,  in  quantity, 
for  his  plate  had  to  be  passed  up  three  times, 
and  he  usually  found  room  for  two  pieces  of 
mince  pie  besides. 

When  the  joyful  day  came  again,  both  Aunt 
Comfort  and  Angie  set  about  making  it  mem- 
orable, and  invited  a  gathering  that  was  likely 
to  crowd  their  home  to  its  limit.  First,  Dr.  Sol 
and  his  wife,  and  Martin,  of  course,  then  his 
mother,  sister,  and  her  family,  consisting  of 
her  husband  and  three  children,  from  River- 
ton,  as  well.  Then  Aunt  Lorey,  whose  ability 
to  assist  at  and  enjoy  such  an  affair  was  even 
superior  to  her  utility  at  funerals,  was  in- 
cluded. 

"  I  don't  know  where  we  can  put  all  Martin's 
family  to  sleep,"  asserted  Angie,  somewhat  rue- 
fully, when  she  and  Aunt  Comfort  began 
counting  their  guests.  "  The  out-of-town  people 


THANKSGIVING   DAY  383 

will  need  four  rooms,  and  we  have  only  two 
spare  ones  furnished." 

"  We  won't  worry  'bout  sich  trifles,"  Aunt 
Comfort  responded ;  "  we  kin  double  up  some- 
how, and  Nezer  kin  sleep  on  the  settle." 

She  had  set  about  a  celebration  that  was 
one,  and  the  matter  of  crowding  was  a  trifle 
of  no  account,  and  the  event  was  one  the  like 
of  which  her  ancient  dwelling  had  not  held 
since  the  joyous  days  of  her  youth.  For 
three  days  the  women  folks  were  more  than 
busy,  and  the  store  of  good  things  provided 
seemed  limitless.  Twice  the  big  oven  had  to 
be  heated  to  bake  all  the  pies,  and  again  to 
hold  the  two  turkeys  and  tempting  spare  rib, 
and  Nezer's  nose  was  nearly  blistered  while 
basting  them.  Martin  obtained  permission  to 
add  his  mite,  and  he  sent  to  the  city  for 
flowers  enough  to  turn  the  whole  house  into 
a  bower,  and  had  Aunt  Comfort  known  what 
they  cost,  she  would  have  fainted.  It  mattered 
not  to  him,  however,  for  he  was  in  that  state 
of  mind  when  money  seemed  like  the  dry  leaves 
of  autumn  compared  to  Angle's  happiness. 

Nezer  was   almost  beside   himself  with  joy 


384  THE   HERMIT 

when  the  supreme  day  arrived,  but  when  the 
somewhat  citified  Riverton  party  drove  up  and 
two  pert  and  pretty  girls  about  his  own  age 
alighted  with  the  rest,  he,  for  perhaps  the 
second  time  in  his  life,  felt  scared. 

Of  the  introductions,  hand-shakings,  and  gen- 
eral efforts  to  make  everybody  feel  at  home 
and  happy,  nothing  need  be  said. 

Dr.  Sol  and  family  soon  joined  the  party, 
and  when  formality  had  merged  into  the 
happy-go-lucky  cheerfulness  of  such  an  occa- 
sion and  the  banquet  was  served,  no  pen  can 
describe  its  all-around  enjoyment  or  hilarity. 

The  climax  of  fun  came  in  the  evening,  how- 
ever, for  Angie,  always  thoughtful,  had  invited 
a  little  party  of  her  oldest  pupils  to  help 
entertain  Martin's  nieces  and  nephew,  and 
the  house  was  turned  almost  topsy-turvy  by 
"  Blindman's  Buff,"  "  Puss  in  the  Corner," 
"  Groceries,"  and  finally  a  game  of  "  Button," 
in  which  even  Aunt  Comfort  and  Aunt  Lorey 
had  to  join.  The  limit  of  rollicking  fun  was 
reached  in  this,  when  the  latter  was  called 
upon  to  pay  a  forfeit  by  kneeling  in  the  middle 
of  the  parlor  floor  and  measuring  six  yards  of 


THANKSGIVING   DAY  385 

tape  with  Nezer.  This  performance  produced 
shouts  of  laughter  on  all  sides,  but  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  Nezer  enjoyed  it. 

There  was  one  slightly  ludicrous  incident, 
however,  for  Martin's  mother,  who  was  some- 
what deaf  and  had  somehow  understood  that  her 
son  and  Angie  were  engaged,  went  to  her  at 
the  close  of  the  evening  and  offered  congratula- 
tions in  an  unnecessarily  loud  tone.  Her  intent 
was  kindness  itself,  but  it  brought  a  blush  and 
almost  tears  to  Angie,  and  no  one  informed 
the  old  lady  to  the  contrary.  Neither  did  any 
one  consider  it  needful  to  do  so,  or  that  the  out- 
come was  anything  but  a  foregone  conclusion. 

And  so  it  was,  for  there  are  some  adjust- 
ments in  life  so  absolutely  compatible  and  so 
evidently  in  harmony  with  the  law  and  se- 
quence of  events,  that  no  will  can  stem  the 
current.  Happiness  and  a  union  with  the  man 
Angle's  heart  had  never  once  swerved  from, 
were  forcing  themselves  upon  her,  and  with  her 
will  or  against  her  will,  no  alternative  was 
possible.  It  may  be  called  divine  law  or 
the  law  of  natural  selection  —  no  matter ;  it 
is  one  and  the  same,  and  a  power  that  has 

2C 


386  THE   HERMIT 

covered  "  this  dear  old  world,  this  queer  old 
world,"  with  countless  happy  homes,  and  filled 
its  isles  and  fields  and  groves  with  joy  supreme 
and  the  sweet  rippling  laughter  of  children. 
Love  was  hers  by  that  same  divine  right, 
happiness  for  others  meant  her  own,  and  what 
was  hers  she  could  not  escape,  even  if  she 
willed.  More  than  that,  the  self-sacrificing 
impulses  of  a  nature  few  men  can  either  under- 
stand or  appreciate  controlled  her  and  forced 
adoration. 

Something  of  this  was  voiced  by  Aunt  Com- 
fort that  night  when  the  guests  had  been 
packed  away  and  she  and  Angie  were  alone. 

"  I  hain't  spoken  on  't  afore,"  observed 
Aunt  Comfort,  "but  I  hope  you  an'  Martin 
won't  put  off  gettin'  married  too  long.  Thar 
ain't  no  need  on  't  now,  and  yer  both  old 
'nough,  V  I'd  like  ter  see  ye  happy,  ez  I  b'lieve 
ye  will  be,  an'  then  thar's  property  reasons. 
Ye  mustn't  expect  Dr.  Sol's  goin'  ter  look 
arter  them  matters  now  that  yer  nat'ral  per- 
tecter's  come  back." 

"  Why,  we  are  not  even  engaged  yet,"  an- 
swered Angie,  with  emphasis,  "  and  I  told  him 


THANKSGIVING   DAY  387 

I  wouldn't  be  so  long  as  you  need  me,  as  I 
know  you  do." 

"Why,  Angie,  I'm  s'prised,"  came  the  some- 
what severe  answer.  "  I  don't  need  ye  half 
so  much  as  ye  do  him,  and  ye've  both  on  ye 
waited  long  enough.  If  ye  want  to  make  me 
happy,  ye  must  consider  my  wishes  in  this 
matter,  an'  I  won't  be  happy  till  the  day  is 
sot  V  I've  seen  ye  two  made  one.  I  ain't 
allers  goin'  to  stay  'round  here,  'n'  then  thar's 
yer  father.  How  do  ye  callate  to  take  keer 
o'  him  alone  in  the  world  'n'  'thout  a  man  ?  " 

It  was  a  different  viewpoint  and  one  Angie 
had  not  considered.  To  her,  duty  seemed  to 
live  singly  and  do  for  those  dependent,  without 
dividing  her  own  thought  and  love,  or  assuming 
wifely  cares,  —  in  short  to  get  along  without  a 
man. 

"  I  am  not  anxious  to  be  married,"  she  said 
firmly,  after  duly  weighing  what  Aunt  Comfort 
had  said.  "  It  is  a  serious  step,  and  if  Martin 
cares  for  me,  it  won't  hurt  him  to  wait  a  few 
years.  I  have  grown  well  used  to  a  single  life, 
and  am  quite  content  without  him.  As  for  prop- 
erty, why,  the  mills  and  Mizzy  lands  won't  run 


388  THE   HERMIT 

away,  and  you  and  I  have  got  along  very  well 
so  far.  Besides,  there's  my  father,  as  you  say, 
only  your  idea  of  my  duty  and  his  need  is 
different  from  mine.  Martin  is  going  to  take 
you  and  me  to  him  in  the  spring,  he  says." 

Then  Aunt  Comfort  laughed,  for  this  naYve 
admission  of  woman's  dependence  on  man  was 
ludicrous. 

"  Why,  you  goose,"  she  said,  "  if  you  'n' 
Martin  was  married,  thar  wouldn't  be  no  need 
o'  my  goin',  'n'  ez  fer  my  settin'  foot  in  one  o' 
them  topply  canoes  they  tell  'bout,  I  wouldn't 
do  it  fer  a  farm." 


CHAPTER  XLII 

A   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT 

LIKE  a  wise  man,  Martin  made  no  effort  to 
change  Angie's  mind,  but  the  path  between 
the  doctor's  house  and  her  home  was  kept 
free  from  snow,  and  seldom  an  evening  passed 
when  he  did  not  use  it.  He  made  himself 
needful  to  her  in  many  ways  also,  one  of  which 
was  to  be  in  front  of  her  home  each  morning 
in  time  to  convey  her  to  school  and  back  again 
each  night. 

"You  have  walked  long  enough,"  he  said, 
when  she  protested  that  people  would  consider 
them  engaged,  "  and  now  you  have  got  to  ride, 
whether  you  want  to  or  not.  As  for  what  folks 
will  say,  I  want  them  to  consider  us  engaged, 
for  I  do."  He  pleaded  with  her  until  she  con- 
sented to  resign  her  school  at  Christmas,  and 
then  hurried  away  to  tell  Squire  Phinney,  to 
389 


390 


THE   HERMIT 


have  another  teacher  engaged,  and  once  a 
week  a  well-packed  box  of  cut  flowers  was  left 
at  her  dwelling  by  the  stage  driver.  Martin 
also  conferred  with  Aunt  Comfort,  who  was 
heart  and  soul  on  his  side,  and  table  delicacies 
from  summer  climes  and  quite  unknown  to 
Green  vale  found  their  way  to  her  table.  He 
even  enlisted  Nezer  at  fifty  cents  a  day  to  go 
early  to  the  schoolhouse,  and  have  it  well 
warmed  ere  Angie  arrived,  and  if  his  loving 
care  and  thought  missed  any  points  in  this 
practical  wooing,  they  were  trifling  ones. 
When  she  demurred  at  so  much  attention  and 
repeated  her  thanks,  he  would  not  listen. 

"  It's  my  own  happiness  I  am  hunting  for," 
he  said,  "  as  well  as  yours,  and  I've  many  long 
years  of  neglect  to  make  up.  You  needn't 
marry  me  until  you  feel  ready  to  propose  it, 
but  you  can't  stop  my  loving  you  and  doing 
for  you,  say  what  you  choose." 

They  had  an  almost  make-believe  quarrel 
over  the  two  thousand  dollars  he  paid  over  to 
her  by  Dr.  Sol. 

"  I  positively  refuse  to  touch  it,"  Martin 
declared,  when  she  handed  him  the  identical 


A  CHRISTMAS   PRESENT  391 

roll  of  bills.  "  It's  yours  by  inheritance  and 
law,  and  I  won't  have  it  on  my  hands." 

"  I  don't  consider  it  mine,"  she  answered 
as  firmly,  "  and  I  won't  keep  it,  so  what  shall 
I  do  with  it?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  it,"  he  ex- 
claimed with  mock  grandiloquence  in  answer. 
"  Give  it  to  Hannah,  to  Nezer,  to  the  parson, 
or  to  the  poor,  or  whom  you  choose,  but  you 
can't  make  me  take  it.  I  may  insist  that  you 
give  me  a  deed  of  the  property  when  I  tender 
the  balance  of  payment,  but  that  is  all.  I  only 
bought  it  to  keep  it  away  from  strangers." 

There  were  other  rills  of  joy  flowing  her 
way  these  days  besides  Martin's  devotion, 
and  one  reached  her  heart  the  closing  day  of 
her  school,  and  in  the  form  of  an  invitation 
to  come  to  the  schoolhouse  the  next  Saturday 
and  be  her  scholars'  guest  of  honor.  She  could 
not  even  guess  what  was  in  store  for  her,  and 
when  Martin  called  to  convey  her  thither,  he 
refused  to  even  hint  it.  She  almost  collapsed, 
however,  when  she  once  more  stepped  into  the 
long-familiar  room,  for  it  was  packed  by  all  her 
pupils,  and  most  of  their  parents,  with  Squire 


392  THE    HERMIT 

Phinney  as  master  of  ceremonies.  First  came 
the  singing  of  an  improvised  song  with  her 
name  used,  then  the  presentation  of  an  album 
containing  her  scholars'  pictures,  with  speech 
by  the  Squire,  and  lastly  the  good-bys.  This 
finale  was  too  much  for  poor  Angie's  com- 
posure, for  as  the  little  ones  began  to  file  by 
in  due  order,  each  to  give  and  receive  a  kiss, 
her  feelings  gave  way,  and  her  face  became  a 
shower  cloud.  When  the  old  folks'  turn  came, 
she  could  not  speak,  and  after  they  had  de- 
parted, and  only  Stella  Phinney  and  Martin 
remained,  she  was  still  sobbing.  To  leave  the 
room  for  the  last  time  was  almost  as  much  a 
tax  as  parting  from  the  school,  for  the  ten  years 
had  imprinted  every  nook,  cranny,  and  outline 
of  that  little  temple  on  her  heart,  and  when  the 
door  was  closed  and  locked  by  Martin  and  the 
three  drove  away,  she  was  still  unable  to  speak. 
The  affair  was  a  tribute  she  might  well  be 
proud  of,  for  never  before  had  its  like  occurred 
in  Greenvale,  and  yet,  when  the  horse's  hoofs 
struck  the  old  red  bridge  on  their  way  home, 
to  Angie  they  sounded  like  the  rapid  fall  of 
clods  upon  a  coffin. 


A   CHRISTMAS   PRESENT  393 

"  I  can't  undo  my  heartstrings,"  she  said  to 
Martin  that  night,  "  and  to-day's  experience  has 
made  me  feel  that  I  am  like  a  ship  without  a 
rudder.  I  have  lived  with  the  growing  am- 
bitions of  my  little  men  and  women  so  long, 
they  have  clung  to  me,  and  loved  me,  and  I 
them,  all  these  years,  that  they  are  part  of  my 
life.  I  am  sure  I  shall  feel  like  the  prisoner  who, 
after  spending  forty  years  in  one  cell  each  night, 
was  released,  only  to  go  back  there  in  a  month 
and  beg  for  the  privilege  of  entering  it  again." 

But  Christmas  day  brought  another  mood  to 
this  more  than  lovable  girl,  and  also  a  surprise 
to  Martin.  He  had,  as  might  be  expected, 
almost  filled  her  home  with  presents  for  all  its 
members,  a  list  too  long  for  mention,  and  they 
had  all  eaten  banquet  dinner  at  the  doctor's, 
and  with  music  and  games  passed  the  after- 
noon. It  was  not  a  day  celebrated  as  Thanks- 
giving was,  and  when  nightfall  came,  Aunt 
Comfort  led  the  way  homeward. 

"  I  shall  see  you  this  evening,  I  hope,"  Angie 
whispered  to  Martin  ere  she  followed ;  "  at  least 
I  want  to.  I've  a  little  Christmas  present 
waiting  for  you." 


394  THE   HERMIT 

What  it  was  he  could  not  even  guess  —  in 
fact  did  not  expect  any.  His  evenings  there 
were  usually  passed  in  the  sitting  room,  for  the 
parlor  was  slow  to  warm  now  winter  had  come, 
and  Aunt  Comfort's  presence  was  no  bar  to 
conversation  with  Angie.  She  also  —  like  the 
wise  mother  she  was  —  retired  early,  and  did 
so  to-night.  Then,  for  a  charming  hour,  Angie 
and  Martin  had  the  room  to  themselves.  No 
mention  of  his  own  feelings  or  hopes  was  made 
by  him  —  he  had  since  the  first  abandoned  that 
subject — and  the  school  farewell,  with  books 
and  the  latest  gossip,  furnished  topics.  It  was 
almost  time  for  separation,  and  yet  no  mention 
of  the  Christmas  token  had  been  made  by 
Angie.  , 

"  I  thought  I  was  to  receive  a  present,"  he 
said  at  last,  "or  was  it  a  joke?" 

"  It  may  prove  a  sorry  one,"  she  answered, 
"but  I  have  one  for  you,  and  will  go  out  and 
get  it.  When  I  return,  I'll  knock;  you  must 
then  arise,  close  your  eyes,  and  promise  not 
to  open  them  until  I  say  the  word." 

Somewhat  mystified,  he  promised,  and  for 
a  long  half  hour  he  watched  the  fire  and  lis- 


'HERE  is  TOUR  PRESENT,"  SHE  WHISPERED  —  Page  395 


A  CHRISTMAS   PRESENT  395 

tened  to  the  clock.  And  that  half  hour  seemed 
likely  to  never  end. 

At  last  came  the  knock,  and  he  arose  and 
dutifully  closed  his  eyes.  Soon  he  heard  the 
door  softly  open  and  close,  then  a  gentle, 
rustling  step,  and  when,  "  Now  you  may  look," 
was  whispered,  he  opened  his  eyes.  And  what 
a  vision  greeted  him,  for  there,  glowing  with 
blushes  and  half  concealed  beneath  a  veil  stood 
Angie,  a  bride  in  dress  and  pose,  with  hands 
folded  and  eyes  downcast.  A  woman  beautiful 
as  a  sculptor's  dream  ! 

"  Here  is  your  present,"  she  whispered  at 
last,  raising  her  love-lit  eyes  to  his,  "  you  have 
robbed  me  of  my  school  —  and  —  and  —  I  must 
have  some  one  to  care  for  in  place  of  it." 

And  now  did  he,  or  did  he  not  consider  that 
veil  superfluous  ?  Let  me  assure  you,  kind 
reader,  I'll  never  tell. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THE   SPREAD   OF    HAPPINESS 

Two  months  had  elapsed  since  the  spectre  of 
Scar  Face  and  David's  torturing  conscience  had 
caused  him  to  leap  into  oblivion,  and  he  was 
almost  forgotten.  The  Mizzy  falls  still  poured 
out  from  beneath  a  sheathing  of  ice,  and  glit- 
tering pendants  hung  from  the  rocks  beside  it 
or  swayed  from  the  trees  that  bent  toward  it 
below.  The  mills  were  choked  with  snow,  the 
great  house  near  by  was  empty,  not  a  footprint 
showed  that  the  premises  ever  had  a  visitor, 
and  the  ghost  that  once  haunted  them  had  been 
banished.  The  gossips  had  more  cheering 
subjects  to  discuss,  and  Martin's  discovery  of 
Amzi,  his  good  Samaritan  service  and  care  for 
that  pitiful  man,  old  Cy's  voluntary  imprison- 
ment with  him  in  the  far-away  wilderness,  and 
the  hope  that  both  would  return  in  the  spring, 
were  discussed  at  every  fireside.  There  was 
396 


THE   SPREAD   OF   HAPPINESS  397 

also  another  topic  of  warm  heart  interest  —  the 
news  that  Angie  and  Martin  were  now  openly 
pledged  to  marriage  in  the  near  future.  It  was 
not  long  in  spreading,  for  when  Angie  some- 
what penitently  informed  Aunt  Comfort,  that 
motherly  soul  first  kissed  and  caressed  her  with 
tearful  joy,  and  then  straightway  informed  Aunt 
Lorey  and  (in  the  vernacular)  "  that  settled  it." 

The  snow  was  deep,  but  that  was  no  hin- 
drance to  Aunt  Lorey,  for  before  the  sun  had 
again  risen  on  fair  Greenvale,  the  important 
news  was  known  all  over  the  village. 

And  what  a  romantic  tale  of  faithful  devotion 
well  rewarded  it  was,  and  how  the  congratula- 
tions and  good  wishes  came  showering  upon 
Angie !  For  years  she  had  lived  her  patient, 
helpful  life,  always  thinking  of  and  doing  for 
others,  bearing  her  own  troubles  and  wrongs 
in  silence,  until  she  had  grown  very  dear 
to  the  hearts  of  all,  and  now  to  come  into 
her  inherited  rights  and  the  crown  of  love  and 
betrothal  almost  at  once,  with  the  prospect  of 
again  meeting  a  father  supposed  to  be  dead, 
was  a  reward  greater  than  a  fairy  princess  ever 
received. 


398  THE   HERMIT 

And  well  deserved,  as  all  considered. 

Aunt  Comfort  shared  the  general  love-feast 
of  good-will  and  wishes,  and  Martin  was  also  a 
hero.  Dr.  Sol  was  not  forgotten,  and  even 
Nezer  received  a  few  crumbs  for  his  plodding 
through  the  snow  early  every  morning  for  weeks 
to  build  a  rousing  fire  in  the  schoolhouse  for 
Angie, — acts  which  were  attributed  to  his  devo- 
tion to  her. 

The  social  life  of  Greenvale  also  received  a 
new  impetus  that  winter,  and  evening  gather- 
ings of  the  middle  aged  and  young  folks,  to 
which  Angie  and  Martin  were  inevitably  invited, 
became  frequent.  They  were  considered  the 
guests  of  honor  at  all  these  simple  functions, 
and  none  complete  without  them.  Angie  was, 
of  course,  the  social  star,  who  was  sought  as 
queen ;  her  wishes  were  consulted,  her  sugges- 
tions were  asked  for,  and  she  was  forced  to  re- 
ceive a  homage  she  cared  not  at  all  for.  The 
general  sociability  also  culminated  in  several 
dances  where  she  and  Martin  were  obliged  to 
lead  the  grand  march,  and  she  was  besieged 
afterwards  by  would-be  partners.  Aunt  Com- 
fort also  entered  into  the  spirit  of  joyousness 


THE   SPREAD   OF  HAPPINESS  399 

and  battled  with  Angle's  sense  of  economy  until 
an  ample  supply  of  new  gowns  and  frocks  were 
added  to  her  wardrobe. 

"  You've  been  denyin'  yerself  V  going  with- 
out things  long  'nough,"  she  said  when  the 
subject  came  up,  "an"  now  you've  got  ter  dress 
up,  if  I've  got  ter  sit  up  nights  sewin'.  Then 
you've  got  ter  consider  Martin's  feelin's.  He's 
got  man's  nat'ral  pride  in  you,  that  you  mustn't 
forget." 

He  also  "considered,"  and  the  costly  hothouse 
flowers  kept  coming  to  Aunt  Comfort's  in  spite 
of  zero  weather. 

There  was  also  another  side  to  the  social  im- 
petus, and  that  the  religious  one.  The  church 
that  had  been  repaired  by  Martin,  and  where 
the  Reverend  Upson  proclaimed  what  might  be 
called  the  new  school  of  thought,  received  good 
support  and  was  well  filled  each  Sabbath. 
Most  of  the  audiences  were  composed  of  those 
who  had  grown  lax  in  their  church  attendance,  or 
seldom  listened  to  the  Reverend  Jones,  but  many 
alternated  between  the  two  churches.  It  be- 
came a  species  of  competition  between  the  two 
preachers,  which  harmed  neither  and  really 


400  THE   HERMIT 

aided  both  by  provoking  widespread  discussion 
out  of  church  and  more  general  interest  in  reli- 
gion. The  fact  was  the  Reverend  Jones  had  be- 
come old-fogyish,  his  arguments  moss-covered, 
and  the  dry  bones  of  Calvinism  had  lost  their 
power.  The  newer  ones  of  Unitarianism  were 
more  appealing  to  the  broader  minded,  and 
even  interested  those  who  still  held  to  the  old 
theology.  In  a  village  like  Greenvale  nothing  can 
be  concealed,  and  the  Reverend  Upson's  utter- 
ances each  Sunday  were  quoted  from  house  to 
house  soon  after,  discussed  in  Phinney's  store 
and  Cap'n  Tobey's  tavern,  and  weighed  and  com- 
pared with  Reverend  Jones's  sermons  time  and 
again,  and  it  must  be  said  that  to  those  sturdy 
farmers  who  had  wrangled  on  predestination, 
doubted  Noah's  maritime  knowledge,  and  dis- 
cussed the  cause  of  Adam's  fall  for  years,  Parson 
Upson's  theories  seemed  the  more  logical  and  his 
idea  of  God  the  more  commendable.  A  curious 
and  quite  unexpected  change  came  over  the  Rev- 
erend Jones  as  well,  and  he  seemed  like  a  preacher 
uncertain  of  his  ground  and  anxious  to  concili- 
ate and  retain  the  good-will  and  confidence  of 
even  his  own  parishioners.  In  social  life  he 


THE   SPREAD   OF   HAPPINESS  40! 

was  less  dogmatic  and  more  ready  to  listen 
patiently  to  others'  opinions,  did  not  at  once 
denounce  those  who  differed  with  him  even  in 
trifles  as  formerly,  and  even  admitted  that  his 
competitor  in  thought  might  have  honest  inten- 
tions and  also  be  doing  good.  At  first  he  had 
denounced  Mr.  Upson  unsparingly.  This  tirade 
now  ceased  entirely,  and  when  one  evening  the 
two  chanced  to  meet  in  a  social  way,  a  surprise 
came,  for  a  cordial  hand-shake  and  most  amiable 
chat  followed. 

A  marvellous  change  also  came  in  his  ser- 
mons. Brimstone  was  banished,  the  wrath  of 
God  was  seldom  referred  to,  and  a  dozen  other 
long-familiar  points  of  creed  were  apparently 
forgotten.  The  character,  attributes,  and  in- 
tentions of  God  also  received  a  changed  inter- 
pretation, and  as  Squire  Phinney  put  it,  after 
listening  to  one  of  Jones's  newly  liberal  ser- 
mons, "  It  looks  as  though  Parson  Upson  was 
goin'  to  convert  Parson  Jones." 

Neither  did  the  orthodox  following  decrease 
any  as  might  be  expected,  for  the  changed  tenor 
of  preaching  in  that  church  provoked  interest. 
More  people  went  to  church  each  Sunday,  and 


4O2  THE   HERMIT 

both  were  well  attended.  It  was  an  outcome 
that  gave  good  old  Parson  Jones  more  solace 
than  he  admitted,  and  almost  as  much  satisfac- 
tion as  that  felt  over  Angle's  good  fortune.  It 
must  also  be  told  that  she  contributed  an  ample 
share  to  his  recent  peace  of  mind,  for  her  first 
business  act,  after  Dr.  Sol  had  been  appointed 
administrator  of  her  uncle's  estate,  was  to  ob- 
tain the  church  mortgage  from  him  and  present 
it  to  Parson  Jones. 

How  that  worthy  man  thanked  and  blessed 
her  with  a  special  prayer  there  and  then,  how 
he  announced  the  joyous  gift  and  fact  in  the 
pulpit  the  next  Sunday,  and  how  this  gave  an 
added  impetus  to  her  queenship  over  Green- 
vale,  and  the  love  and  respect  of  all  need  not 
be  described. 

After  many  years  of  patient  self-sacrifice 
and  unrest,  the  bark  of  her  life  had  suddenly 
sailed  into  golden  and  azure  waters  where  the 
banks  were  festooned  with  the  flowers  of 
respect,  and  the  birds  of  love  and  joy  were 
singing. 

And  none  envied  her  this  new-found  happi- 
ness. 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

WEDDING    BELLS 

WHEN  the  pinks  and  syringas  once  more 
bloomed  in  Aunt  Comfort's  dooryard,  and  the 
lilacs  beautified  the  weather-worn  and  moss- 
covered  porch,  there  occurred  a  wedding  in  the 
old  orthodox  church.  Martin  would  have  pre- 
ferred it  in  the  one  he  had  endowed,  yet  did  not 
even  hint  that  thought,  for  the  most  trifling  will 
and  wish  of  Angie  was  now  law  with  him. 

I  say  wedding,  and  yet  rather  might  it  have 
been  called  Greenvale's  testimonial  to  the  pair, 
for  never  had  the  village  seen  one  like  it.  For 
weeks  almost  every  one  of  the  gentler  sex  was 
anxiously  preparing  suitable  raiment;  a  dress- 
maker from  the  city  had  been  called  in  for 
Angie,  a  trained  quartette  and  professional 
musicians  engaged  for  the  grand  occasion,  and 
a  carriage  and  span  from  Riverton  to  convey 
the  united  pair  away.  For  two  days  dozens 
403 


404  THE   HERMIT 

of  kindly  hands  labored  to  render  the  church 
more  beautiful.  Every  window  was  draped 
with  flowers  and  foliage,  the  altar  hidden  be- 
neath lilacs  and  roses,  a  carpet  was  laid  from 
street  to  door,  and  when  the  bride  and  groom 
arrived,  every  inch  of  standing  room  in  the 
church  was  packed  solid,  with  scores  outside, 
while  hardly  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  Green- 
vale  was  absent. 

A  double  row  of  Angie's  pupils  flanked  the 
carpeted  walk,  tossing  flowers  ahead  of  her  as 
she  entered.  Two  more  privileged  led  the  way 
up  the  aisle,  scattering  buds  and  blossoms,  while 
the  wedding-song,  "  O  Promise  Me,"  filled  the 
fragrant  air  with  divine  melody. 

Then  came  a  hush ;  and  the  few  sacred  and 
time-honored  words  that  have  opened  the  doors 
of  heavenly  joy  or  heart-rending  sorrow  to 
millions,  a  fervent  prayer  from  the  lips  of  Min- 
ister Jones,  never  before  equalled  by  him,  and 
a  feeling  in  the  hearts  of  many  that  God  had 
entered  the  temple  with  the  bridal  pair. 

Words  were  weak  fitly  to  describe  such  an 
event  and  even  less  so  the  moods  of  all  partici- 
pants. It  was  a  meeting  of  the  rills  of  joy  and 


WEDDING  BELLS  405 

sorrow,  ever  flowing  alike  from  all  human 
hearts,  as  well  as  a  union  of  two  finite  beings, 
and  those  with  gray  hair  were  left  to  mourn. 
To  Angie  it  was  a  sacred  and  solemn  step  much 
akin  to  the  thought  of  Christ  on  the  cross,  and 
only  by  superhuman  effort  did  she  restrain  her 
tears  until  the  seclusion  of  Aunt  Comfort's  was 
reached  again.  Love  to  her  meant  utter  self- 
abnegation  and  marriage  a  pledge  to  live  for, 
and  if  need  be,  to  die  for  another.  And  when 
the  dear  old  home  enclosed  her  once  more, 
emotion  conquered  all  resolution. 

"  Ye  mustn't  take  on  so,"  Aunt  Comfort 
whispered  brokenly,  when  she  clasped  Angie 
for  the  final  parting,  "  it'll  break  my  heart  when 
ye're  gone.  Ye've  been  a  great  blessin'  to 
me  all  these  years,  'n'  I  want  to  see  ye  start 
off  happy.  It's  nat'ral  ye  should,  'n'  when  I 
can't  see  yer  face  no  more,  I  want  ter  think 
on  't  ez  smilin'.  It's  all  that's  left  me." 

Over  that  hallowed  journey  to  and  through 
the  wilderness  where  the  streams  wound  be- 
tween fir-clad  banks,  the  waves  rippled  upon 
the  shores  of  sparkling  lakes,  the  spruce  trees 
played  hide  and  seek  in  the  camp-fire  light,  and 


406  THE   HERMIT 

the  song-birds  woke  them  to  say,  "  Thank  God 
for  this  doubly  blessed  existence,"  a  veil  shall 
be  drawn. 

Neither  need  a  question  be  raised  as  to  how 
she  met  and  cared  for  that  poor  old  hermit,  or 
how,  at  sight  of  her  sweet  face  once  more,  old 
Cy  felt  as  if  an  angel  had  entered  the  forest. 

But  of  those  left  waiting  in  Greenvale,  good 
old  Aunt  Comfort  deserves  the  last  word  and 
shall  have  it. 

For  her  the  sun  of  life  had  almost  set;  her 
heart  had  rolled  away  in  the  carriage  with  the 
child  she  had  reared,  and  she  had  naught  left 
except  memory  and  that  faded  blouse  and  cap 
in  the  attic  chamber.  Desolation  and  heart 
hunger  were  her  portion  ;  tears  followed  the 
wrinkles  in  her  kindly  face  and  her  gray  head 
was  bent  low  in  sorrow. 

When  life  seems  most  joyous  to  us,  we  think 
not,  but  when  trouble  comes,  or  at  the  end, 
when  our  eyes  are  closing  and  memory  fading, 
it  is  mother's  face  that  hovers  over  us  at  last. 

THE    END 


A     000128462     9 


